


You Want My Obedience? (Then Earn It)

by Bennyhatter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aggression, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Animalistic, Assault, Cage Fights, Dominance, Dwayne is the crazy uncle no one asked for, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Feral Behavior, Hallucinations, Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Noja is a literal carebear, Pack Dynamics, Painfully Slowly, Politics, Quinn Is Bad At Feelings, Self-Hatred, Self-Lubrication, Slow Burn, Submission, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Threats, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-13 14:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 95,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: In a world ruled by the Alpha rank, Quinn is very much an "unusual" omega. He can walk like them, talk like them, and slam them into the dirt when the mood strikes. The problem child of his family, he has always strived to be everything his mother told him an omega wasn't, both to prove her wrong and to prove to himself that he is more than his rank.Unfortunately for him, his mother is a very influential woman -- the Alpha Mayor of their city. And she cannot have a feral, omega son running around breaking the rules that keep their society from falling into chaos.No, he must be brought in line, by whatever means necessary.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Quintus Park/Timber Noja
Comments: 469
Kudos: 638





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I. Have a problem. Can you tell what it is?
> 
> Welcome to... this lol. Every human in every rank has an animal kin, and you'll see those mentioned frequently throughout the story. A lot of their behaviors and a few of their physical traits will reflect their kin-bond, and it's in their scent as well.
> 
> Yet again, this is not going to be a cheerful, butterflies-in-the-tummy kind of fic. At least, not yet. It'll get there, don't worry lol
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy some feral boys and girls. They're ever so much fun to write. 💚

"You're a nasty little shit, aren't ya?"

Quinn spits out his mouthful of blood and grins, tasting the red smeared across his teeth. His knuckles ache, the muscles in his arms burn, and his left side throbs from the boot that sent him sprawling a few minutes ago. He swears he can feel the bruise forming if he focuses on it hard enough, but there isn't any time for that in the ring -- if you lose focus, you  _ lose. _

A hand fists in his hair, wrenching his head back, and he hisses angrily at the fresh pain prickling across his scalp. He glares up at the smug face looming over him, baring his teeth like a cornered stray and growling from deep in his chest. He can feel the itching burn around his eyes that tells him they've turned yellow -- the Alpha's scent thickens the air and makes it heavy and sour.

"Damn, you're a piece of work, ain't ya? The fuck kind of omega are you, anyway?"

"Get fucked, bitch," Quinn snaps, landing another solid blow, this time to the Alpha's solar plexus. It's his fault for being so damn cocky.

_ Trying to subdue me with your scent… Fuckin' amateur. _

Laughing, he arches his neck, pinning the thug's hand between his head and the brick wall and grinding back against it until the Alpha growls in pain. He gets a leg around the bigger man's hip, twisting with a strength the prick clearly isn't anticipating. Quinn knocks him off balance and follows him down, snarling and spitting like an alley cat. He snaps his teeth, latching onto the closest chunk of flesh he can find and sinking his canines in deep, just shy of the Alpha's jugular. He relishes the bellow of pain, dragging his claws down the broad chest beneath him and shoving himself back without unlocking his jaws. His gums ache, but it's worth it when he spits flesh and fresh blood to the side, stradling the wounded Alpha's hips and laughing like a hyena while the man screams and paws at his ruined throat to try and staunch the flow of blood.

"You're fuckin' crazy, you bitch!" he howls, scrambling to his feet as soon as Quinn rolls off of him. He crouches and watches, grinning widely, as his opponent leaps the half-wall and stumbles away through the crowd of stunned onlookers. While they stare, eyes wide and glowing, he licks the blood from his lips and tilts his head to the side.

"And the winner is, Mongrel," Tappik announces boredly, kicking the makeshift gate open so he can slip out and clear the ring for the next pair of fighters. Tap sounds disinterested, but the beta's lips are quirked in a shadow of a smirk as he passes, his slate gray eyes shining with amusement. He doesn't follow, he can't while there's still fights to host, but Quinn knows he'll have a few texts on his phone by the time he gets to his locker.

A hand on his shoulder stops him, firm but not demanding. Quinn looks back at the Alphess, watching the gold slowly fade from her eyes as he pulls his scent in and his pheromones dissipate.

"Yeah?" he grunts, arching a dark eyebrow at her.

"You sure you're an omega, Mongrel?" she asks, looking him up and down skeptically. It's a rhetorical question -- pheromones never lie -- but he knows why she's asking.

In a world ruled by Alphas, where every rank has their own unique attributes, Quinn knows he doesn't fit the mold. He's neither small nor delicate; his voice is rough, and his muscles are solid and strong. He's too tall, too stubborn, too  _ aggressive. _ He's never met an Alpha he hasn't deliberately antagonized every step of the way, and if any of them tried to force his submission, his instinct has always --  _ always _ \-- been to go for the throat.

"Sure as you think you're an Alpha, lady." He shrugs her hand off roughly, giving her a bloody grin before heading for the betting stall to collect his winnings. The beta manning the station offers the cash with a grin, her snakebites catching the light and glinting.

"I could do this all day, honey," she purrs, resting her chin on her palm and watching as he counts what he's won. "Watching you destroy every Alpha they match you with is the highlight of my life."

"Yours and mine, Trigger." Laughing, he leans in and licks her cheek, ignoring the disgruntled grumblings of the crowd when she turns and licks across his mouth in a deliberately lewd display. She's a cat-kin, so by all rights, they should be fighting as savagely as Quinn fights any Alpha they put in front of him, but he and Trigger have been friends since day one -- ever since Tappik told him about the underground rings and gave him a place to belong.

"Go get cleaned up, you animal." She shoves his head away, laughing when he nips lightly at her fingers and catches a claw between his teeth. He winks at her and lets go, making his way through the crowd toward the lockers. The onlookers get out of his way easily, several of them still eyeing him like he may snap and lunge without provocation, but Quinn is perfectly content. He feels downright cheerful, the thrum of a good fight buzzing across his skin and keeping his cheeks flushed.

Punk nods at him from where the burly beta is guarding the door to the lockers. Tappik controls the fights -- where they take place, when, and how many are allowed to bet in at a time. Because creatures of all kin, and most of the ranks, show up to earn a little cash -- or lose some -- he makes sure all of his volunteers are betas to keep things from getting too out of hand.

That's what he says, at least. Quinn knows there's more to it than that, but Tap has his reasons, and he's never had a fight go sour. Sure, people get hurt in the ring, but they know what they bet in for, and anyone trying to get in on an underground fight doesn't have much of a leg to stand on if they get a bit banged up during the night.

Sure enough, as soon as Quinn digs his phone out of his hoodie in the locker room, he sees that Tappik has sent him a text.

_ He's gonna have a hard time explaining that one to his boss. _

Quinn reads it and laughs, dropping his phone on the bench and going to wash the blood off his face. He gargles and spits until the water is clear and most of the taste is gone; checks the back of his head for any blood and counts the new bruises overlapping the older ones. There's a few deeper scrapes from the dog-kin's claws, but nothing serious. He treats them anyway, since the abandoned buildings Tap usually picks are far from up to date on health codes.

_ They all do _ , he sends back once he's clean and dressed in street clothes. He chucks his bloody tank top into the burn pile, swings his backpack across his shoulders, and slips out the back entrance.

Outside, the night air is fresh and cool, and beautifully crisp when he breathes in. There's no overwhelming stench of oppressive pheromones, no smell of blood and anger and fear. Tappik chose an abandoned shoe factory for this week's fight haunt -- some old place way out in the woods. The scent of earth and pines that surround the property soothes him, chasing away the last of his aggression and replacing it with the blissful serenity that always comes after a good fight.

Quinn doesn't own a car, but he doesn't need one. The factory is miles from the city, but his kin were born and bred to handle rougher terrain. He lopes along narrow deer trails, keeping out of sight of the road in case any unsuspecting travelers come along on their way to better places than he's coming from. He finds his way easily through the dark; even an omega has heightened senses, despite most Alphas claiming that they have the best of everything.

He laughs to himself at the thought, his cheeks stinging from the cold and his breath puffing out in misty clouds that dissipate quickly. It's the middle of November, and his jacket isn't exactly made for the approaching winter, but running keeps him warm, and the chill has never bothered him much anyway.

He's about an hour from home when his phone rings, disturbing the peace with its loud, generic shrilling ringtone. Quinn sighs and digs it out of his pocket, leaning against the closest tree and eyeing the caller I.D. for a moment before he takes a breath and answers.

"Heya, Tabitha."

"Quinn!" His sister sounds upset, which gets his hackles up immediately. Tabby is a cheerful soul; it takes a lot to distress her. He likes to tell her that her sunny disposition is what's going to make her the best nurse, once she graduates.

"What's wrong?" He's already walking again, moving quickly through the underbrush and ignoring the brambles that snag and tug across his jeans.

"Mom called."

_ Damn it. _

He keeps his tone deliberately light when he replies, "Oh, yeah?" Their mother only ever calls for one reason, and considering that Tabby sounds like she's on the brink of tears, the damn woman has decided to meddle in shit again. "Who was it this time?"

"Some rich mogul's Alpha son for me, and an aristocrat's daughter for you."

"Tch." Gritting his teeth, Quinn holds back his growl, unwilling to upset his sister any further. "Are we double-dating this, or is she splitting us up?"

Of course she'd go through Tabby for this. She already knew that if she called Quinn directly, he either wouldn't have answered, or he'd have hung up on her. Tabby is everything an omega should be, and he's never been anything but a problem for their mother, even long after he moved out and took Tabby with him.

"She said we'd discuss it over brunch tomorrow." Tabby still sounds too close to tears for his liking; he  _ hates _ it when she gets upset. Maybe it's because she's always so happy, but their mother always manages to bring out the worst in both of them. If she fell off the face of the earth one day, they'd all be better for it.

Quinn trills soothingly, a sweet omegan sound that no one but his little sister has ever heard from him. Even their mother has never been on the receiving end of his gentler side. That part of him has always been reserved exclusively for Tabitha.

"Hey, don't worry. It's 2021, Tabby. Omegas have more rights than we used to, even where family is concerned." They're still at the bottom of the pecking order, but they're not nearly as oppressed as they were sixty years ago. "Her customs are old-fashioned. She can't make us do anything we don't want to do."

"She can sure as hell try." Tabby sniffles, but she sounds less distressed. "She can still make our lives hell, Q, you know she can."

"What would the people of Elmar say if their Mayor got accused of unlawful behavior?" Quinn does his best to sound teasing for Tabby's sake, but he knows if push came to shove, he would nail their mother to the wall for all the city to see, as both a message and a warning.

"Please don't do anything to put yourself in danger, Q. I can't lose you too." Damn it, he can hear her tears in the way her words are thick and choked. Not for the first time, he thanks the Universe that she's never found out about his nighttime jaunts; she'd have a heart attack if she knew what he did to help keep a roof over their heads. His construction job pays well, and he makes a little extra money as a freelance photographer, but the bulk of what he gets comes from Tappik's fights; that's why he's always a guaranteed bet in. Tappik -- Travis, outside of the underground -- knows how badly Quinn wants to stay away from his mother. Considering his nature, and his disposition toward almost any Alpha he meets, the fights act as both stress relief, and a guarantee that Tabitha will never have to go back to the hellhole he took her from.

"Hey, you know me," he jokes, letting the lie taste bitter on his tongue; swallowing it without a fight because he knows, when it comes to his little sister, he'll do whatever he has to to make her happy. "I'm a model citizen. Don't you worry, Tabby. I'll get it all straightened out." He trills again, soft and sweet, and smiles when he hears her answering coo.

"I'll be home soon, alright? We'll make pizza and watch shitty rom-coms before bed. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good to me, Q." She sounds a little happier, which is exactly what he wanted; the tension melts from his shoulders and he carefully pulls his scent back in, just in case anyone is driving with their windows down.

"Good. See you soon, flower. I love you."

"I love you too, beanstalk. Be safe!"

Quinn chuckles, pausing at the top of a rise and looking at the twinkling lights of Elmar through the trees.

"For you, Tabby? Always."

\---

Mayor Eleanor Park looks exactly like what the media depicts a strong, middle-aged Alpha to be. Her pinstripe suit is tailored to fit her perfectly, her heels shined until they gleam, and her dark brown hair has been twisted back into a tight, severe looking bun. She looks at them with the same dark, almond-shaped eyes that both Quinn and Tabitha inherited, though Tabby looks far more like their late father in every other regard.

"Tabitha. Quintus. You both look well." She crosses one leg over the other and rests her hands on her lap, smiling at them across the polished coffee table. Her office is spacious and bright, with comfortable furniture and large windows that let in the mid-morning light. Despite how warm and welcoming it's meant to look, Quinn still feels like a cornered animal. His gums ache, his teeth shifting between sharp and dull as he stares their mother down, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Mother," he greets tightly, shifting to let Tabby lean into him for comfort. Their mother doesn't miss the action, her mouth thinning slightly, though her pleasant expression never flickers.

"Hi, mom," Tabby whispers, sounding meek and shy. She's so much smaller than Quinn; a "proper" omega size, as their mother would say when they were younger. Between the two of them, she's far more gentle-natured and sweet, her natural scent flowery and appealing. Compared to her, Quinn looks more like an Alpha, though he lacks the broader shoulders most of them have, and he's just a bit shorter. His scent is thicker than any omegas, and even most betas; he smells of musk and pine and wild places.

As far as society is concerned, he's too big to be considered an omega, too strong to be a beta, and too small to be an Alpha. He likes being unique, though his mother has never hidden her disdain when confronted with his  _ failures,  _ as she puts it. Her contempt was the driving force behind his decision to leave and take Tabitha with him. Had he left her behind, he knows she would have suffered without him there to act as a buffer.

His mother's crisp, clipped voice brings him back from his musings, and Quinn stares her down across the table, enjoying how she bristles at the obvious challenge in his eyes.

"How have you been? I miss having you at home." Though it sounds like she's speaking to both of them, Quinn knows her words are directed at Tabitha -- she's always the easier of the two of them to keep in line. Their nature may make them more prone to mischief and feral behavior, but even among other coyotes, Quinn has always been almost uncharacteristically aggressive. Unlike him, Tabitha has never had a cruel bone in her body. It's part of the reason he's always been so protective of her.

"We've been well," Tabby says, taking his hand and squeezing gently where their mother can't see. "I'm top of my class, and Quinn has been doing very well at his job. He's up for a promotion soon!"

"Is he." Their mother's cool gaze turns back to him, and Quinn clenches his jaw to keep from baring his teeth. Their mother may be one of the most influential Alphas in Elmar, but she's hardly worth much compared to the Alphas he crushes in the underground. She's barely a threat aside from her status as Mayor.

"Yup," he replies, just as coldly. He holds his scent in through force of habit; between his blockers and his own training, he's learned to mask his pheromones completely. It keeps people from prying unless they feel they have good reason to, though it rarely ever ends well for them when they do.

"You would not  _ have _ to work if you would marry." Eleanor stands and brushes some imaginary dust from her slacks before heading toward the massive mahogany desk that dominates the back wall of the room. Quinn glares at her back, digging his claws into the leather beneath him until he hears it give with a satisfying little  _ pop. _ Tabby squeezes his other hand, cooing quietly. Her scent tickles his nose, calming his ire when he breathes in.

By the time their mother turns back toward them with two manilla files, he's calm enough to mask the rage churning beneath the surface. "I do not wish to be married just yet, mother," he grits out, falling into the polite, formal speech patterns their tutors spent years drilling into them -- and that he abandoned with glee as soon as he was free of the elitist shackles they had been raised in. The only time he bothers with polite conversation anymore is during these  _ visits, _ and that's mostly just to rub salt in the wounds.

_ Look at what's become of the thing you tried so hard to make, you heartless bitch. _

"You cannot wait much longer, Quintus. You will be twenty-nine next month, and you have never had so much as a close acquaintance, aside from your sister."

"Perhaps there is a reason for that." Standing, Quinn offers Tabby his hand and helps her up as well, stepping to place himself between his little sister and the woman who has never once been a mother to them in more than title. Looking over his shoulder, he gives into instinct and bares his fangs, growling quietly in warning when she takes a step toward them.

"You cannot force a union if both sides are not in agreement. This isn't the fifties anymore, Eleanor. We are not  _ cattle _ to be sold as you see fit."

"Tabitha," she says, a note of pleading creeping into her tone. "Tabitha, you are so young. You do not understand what life will be like for an unbonded omega. Your father and I-"

"Shut up," Quinn snarls, turning fully to face her. "Don't you dare fuckin' talk about him like you ever gave a shit. Tabby is twenty. She's allowed to make her own choices."

"And yet, you make them for her," Eleanor retorts, her eyes flashing gold.

"I just… I don't want to be married yet, mother," Tabby says softly, her shoulders hunched and her eyes wet. "I want to be a nurse. I want to help heal people. Perhaps…" Something like placation creeps into her tone; it's the nature of an omega to please a disgruntled Alpha, after all. "Perhaps I will meet a suitor then?"

"A doctor is a noble profession," their mother allows, though she's clearly not appeased, "but you deserve someone with  _ standing.  _ Someone who will have the means to give you the life every omega dreams of having."

"Not  _ every _ omega," Quinn rumbles, wrapping his arm protectively around Tabby and tucking her face against his chest. He lets out his scent enough to calm her, staring their mother down over her dark, tamed curls. "Just because you can't get your head out of the arcane times doesn't mean we should have to suffer for it."

"I am your mother, and an Alpha." Eleanor sets the files down, pinning them in place with her fist. She reeks of anger, her pheromones filling the room, but Quinn isn't cowed; he keeps Tabby's face hidden to keep her from crippling, growling low and savage as the Alphess tries to subdue him.

"We are not children anymore," he hisses. "You cannot control us. Our lives are  _ ours _ to decide. If you can't understand that, then we're done here."

"You  _ will _ obey, one way or another, Quintus Park," she warns, lifting her head and flaring her nostrils. "I have tolerated your behavior for far too long. You may no longer be a child, but you are also far too old to be behaving like a wild cub. Have you no kin-pride?"

"More than you ever will, Mayor Park," he spits, guiding Tabby from the room and slamming the door hard enough to knock down one of the pictures hanging on the outside wall. His sister is whining quietly, her hands fisted in his hoodie. He licks her temple, crooning, and ignores the secretary watching with wide eyes.

"C'mon, flower. Let's go home," he murmurs, leading her down the hallway. Once they're far enough from their mother's wrath, he carefully lets her go, keeping a hand between her shoulders to comfort her and pulling out his phone to fire off a text to Tabbik with the other hand.

_ I'm bettin in. Tell me when and where, and make sure they're a fuckin brute. _

_ Anything for you, _ the beta replies barely a minute later. His phone buzzes again with a follow-up text, and Quinn grins.

_ Abandoned factory out at the pier in Gubler, tonight at midnight. Need a lift? _

Helping Tabby into a cab first, he follows her in and shuts the door, sending one final message before tucking his phone into his pocket.

_ See you at nine. _

\---

Quinn has his opponent pinned, and the Alpha's face is a bloody mess. She's still snapping at him, her larger canines catching the shell of his ear, but he refuses to let go of her shoulder. Blood bubbles and bursts as he snarls, his own fangs sunk deeply into her trapezius muscle. Her claws rake across his stomach, slicing his shirt and drawing blood that drips across her stomach and mixes with the rest. They're a writhing mass of limbs and brightly glowing eyes, and Quinn knows that it won't be much longer before she yields. She's got more severe injures, and she's losing blood a lot faster than he is. The crowd is roaring, the shouts and jeers blending into an annoyance that pounds across his temples and ricochets inside his skull. Frustrated, he bites down harder and wrenches his head to the side, eager to finish the fight now that he's gotten what he came for.

He's so focused on ending his opponent that he doesn't notice the shift in the crowd's attitude as uniformed officers flood in through the doorways and cut off any exits.

_ "Police! No one move!" _

Quinn hears the shout and snorts, the sound muffled by the Alphess' shirt.  _ They're idiots for thinking that would ever work. _ He refuses to let go of her, adjusting his body weight when she starts struggling in earnest. When a shadow falls over them, he snarls in warning and shifts to cover more of her body with his, protecting his prey from the scavengers.

"Let me go, you idiot!" she hisses, punching at his head and shoulders to try and knock him away. It hurts, but not enough to deter him, and he enjoys the growing stench of her fear when she realizes he's locked in with no intention of letting go until she stops breathing.

A hand forces its way between them, covering his nose in a makeshift muzzle. He smells the subdual salts immediately, bitter and potent, and rears back before he breathes in too much of the vapor. As soon as his teeth are out of the Alphess, a heavy, proper muzzle clamps over his mouth and nose. He feels it cinch tight, the buckles catching and pulling at the hair on the back of his head. Snarling, he lunges at the closest body, intent on tearing them to ribbons, but multiple hands catch him and drag him to the ground.

"Get the fuck off me!" Roaring, he bucks and writhes, kicking out with his bare feet and growling in satisfaction when he connects with someone and they grunt in pain. His hands get yanked behind his back, pinned to the dip of his spine; he feels mittened shackles being fitted in place and screams, furious about his victory being ripped away so suddenly. Strong, broad hands catch his ankles, fastening shackles around them as well and leaving him effectively hobbled.

"You're under arrest," a voice growls in his ear, hot breath gusting across the side of his blood-smeared face. The air is heavy with domination and Alpha pheromones, weighing everything down until even the Alphess he'd been fighting is carefully still, her golden eyes wide and full of fear. She's one of the wolf-kin, but in that second, she looks more like a terrified pup than she does a strong, ferocious Alpha.

"What for?" he growls, struggling and snapping his teeth despite the muzzle keeping him from biting.

"Trespassing, assault with intent to commit murder, and whatever else I can dredge up on the way to the precinct." The officer pinning him stands up and hauls him to his feet, keeping a firm grip on his scruff. His thumb digs into the gland just behind Quinn's right ear, and he snarls weakly when he feels the released endorphins flood his system. All of the fight burns out of him, leaving him kitten-weak and mute.

Ages ago, when the world was a cold and vicious place, omegas could only be subdued and mated if an Alpha bit or clamped down on their e-gland -- the gland behind their ear that released endorphins to relax them and make it easier for the Alpha to knot and breed their chosen omega. As civilization grew and flourished, it was that gland that ultimately sealed their fate as the weakest rank. It was never their size and generally mild dispositions; any omega could be a force to be reckoned with if their mate or their cubs were in danger. It was that gland that made them "lesser," and as society grew, so did their stigmas and stereotypes.

"Fuckin' cowards," Quinn hisses, his words muddled and slow. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth, and the taste of blood makes him feel nauseous now rather than triumphant.

"You've got one hell of a mouth on you, omega," the officer grunts, shaking him by his scruff until he stops growling. "Any other breeder would be practically unconscious by now. The hell did they feed you, growing up?"

"Oppression and abuse." Glaring at the Alphas and betas watching them pass, he bares his teeth in warning. The room is a mix of fighters and police, all of the different pheromones clashing until his headache feels like someone has taken a pick axe to the side of his skull. "The fuck are you lookin' at?" he snaps at a beta officer, grinning meanly when the man startles and takes a step away. The Alpha holding him scruffs him harder in warning, the wolf-kin's claws pressing into his skin just shy of hard enough to draw blood.

Outside of the factory, he sees several other fighters that have been shackled like him, including the Alphess he nearly killed. She's tied to a gurney, a muzzle keeping her from biting as paramedics work to staunch the blood pooling beneath her and dripping to the ground. She's the only other fighter he can see that's been muzzled, which seems excessive considering she's barely conscious.

"Cuffin' him in a van, officer Creek?" one of the approaching officers asks. She looks like someone important; someone who has never had a day of fun in her life. Her brown eyes are hard and her face a mask of apathy.

"Not this one, Captain," Creek replies. "He's gonna need to be sedated for transport; e-gland was barely effective."

Quinn snarls to prove the man's point, snapping his teeth at the Captain and enjoying the mild look of surprise that cracks her mask.

"So he  _ is  _ a feral omega. Haven't seen one of those since my early days. You know the drill then, Creek. Take at least two others as backup, and make sure he's  _ secure." _

"I'm right fuckin'  _ here," _ Quinn growls, staring her down with glinting yellow eyes until hers flash gold in response.

"Make that three. Get him out of here, officer. Keep him separated and muzzled, no matter what. Detective Ballard knows what to do with him once you reach the station. He'll handle the arrangements, and notify Mayor Park."

She grabs his chin beneath the edge of the muzzle, forcing his head up until his throat is bared and keeping him like that no matter how much he struggles. She reeks of cat-kin, her scent far harsher than Trigger's. He growls at her, snapping his teeth uselessly and fighting against his restraints until he can almost feel the bruises forming.

"Get fucked, puss."

She shakes him by his chin, her claws leaving telling scratches down either side of his jawline that run parallel to the muzzle's straps. "Learn your place, 'yote," she replies calmly before letting him go.

"The sooner the better, Creek. Park wants this kept as quiet as possible."

"Yes, ma'am." Officer Creek marches him toward the closest vehicle, whistling for a few of his fellow blue-shirts while Quinn seethes. "You've got some serious issues, breeder," he mutters when Quinn starts growling.

"Comes with the territory, knot-jock," Quinn snaps back, grinning at the pulse of  _ anger _ that bursts across his tongue before the officer can control his scent. "Aww, did I hit a nerve? Good to know."

"Shut up." Creek forces his head down and practically throws him at the beta paramedic that approaches them. She's got a needle and syringe full of pale green liquid, her eyes silver from nerves as she looks him up and down.

"This dose is enough to knock out a rutting Alpha," she says, clearly uncertain. "Are you sure you need this much for an omega? The side effects are going to be really rough for him."

"Just do it," Creek snaps, fisting a hand in his hair and yanking his head back. Quinn howls at the pain, straining to break free in any way he can; snapping his teeth at the anxious beta and arching away from Creek.  _ "Now, _ beta; stop gawking!"

Quinn feels the needle go in just below the bend of his elbow, two other betas helping to hold his arm steady -- he hadn't even heard them approaching. As soon as the paramedic is done, she backs away quickly, searching his face with worried eyes.

"If he starts to have an allergic reaction, call the medics  _ immediately," _ she stresses, capping the needle and tucking it into her pocket. The sedative must be fast-acting -- Quinn already feels sluggish, his breathing going slow and labored. His muscles feel like rubber, his eyes burn, and he staggers into the side of the SUV, knocking his head against the window. Creek jerks him back up and he glares at the man from beneath his bangs, his head hanging low as he struggles to breathe in air his lungs can't quite seem to find.

"Fuck… you… knothead," he wheezes, and before Creek can fire off some smart retort, Quinn feels his body buckle as the darkness rushes to swallow him whole.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are mine, because all of this is written and posted on my phone. I have no house internet lol
> 
> ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?
> 
> MIND THE TAGS.

Noise filters in slowly, not that there's much for him to hear. Quinn groans and lifts his head, realizing that the muzzle is gone when he rotates his jaw to work out the ache that's set in; laying on mittens made out of leather and iron will do that when there's nothing to act as a buffer. He can't hear anything over the sound of his own breathing, and there aren't any telling smells aside from the sting of strong pheromone-wiping cleaners. Cracking open an eye, he winces at the harsh overhead light, grumbling and doing his best to stretch in his chair. It's a heavy-duty piece of furniture, same as the table he'd been slumped over when he came to. Aside from the empty chair on the opposite side of the table, there's no other furniture -- just gray-blue concrete walls and a two-way mirror next to a door that clearly doesn't open from the inside.

Chuffing, he rolls his neck, grunting when it cracks. He's still wearing his bloodstained clothes from the fight, and while the room isn't freezing, it's not exactly warm either. Goosebumps prickle down his bare arms, raising the hairs as they go. Quinn shakes himself, trying to work circulation back into his hands after laying on them for so long. He spares a glance for the two-way mirror and scoffs, rattling the chains of his shackles loudly against the side of the table.

"Kinda overkill, don't ya think? Whaddya think I'm gonna do, murder an entire police force?"

The door opens with a quiet click, and he grins right up until he sees who it is that steps into the room with him.

"Ah," he says, his lip twitching. "Captain, wasn't it?"

"Captain Melissa Rojas," she offers, pulling the empty chair away from the table and taking a seat. "I assume you already know your rights, Mr. Park? You have the right to ask for a lawyer, if you'd rather not speak to me or any of my officers."

"Nah," Quinn drawls, stretching his arms across the table and smirking up at her. He can still feel where the straps of the muzzle dug into his skin, and the stinging lines she left with her claws. When he yawns, he makes sure to show all his teeth; it's not as effective toward a cat-kin, but he knows she'll understand the point he's trying to make. "Is there a reason I'm shackled to this extreme, Captain Rojas?"

"Safety," she replies simply, crossing her arms and watching him with dark, unreadable eyes. "The Alphess is still in critical condition, in case you were wondering," she adds. She reminds Quinn of a panther stalking its prey, just waiting for the stumble so she can leap.

"Mmm." Rubbing his face against his arm to scratch an itch, Quinn yawns again. "So, is there a reason I've been arrested? This all seems like a bit much for a trespassing charge." He holds up his hands for clarification, the chains clinking and rattling as they slide off the table.

"We're adding assault and attempted murder to the list." Captain Rojas uncrosses her arms and leans forward, resting her elbows against the edge of the table and tapping a dark claw against the wood in a distracted cadence; or perhaps it's agitation, considering how heavily she's frowning. "You also attempted to assault several police officers. It's not a good list, Mr. Park."

"Don't call me that," Quinn grunts, wrinkling his nose. "Quinn is fine. Is it such a crime for someone to defend themselves when they've been attacked?"

"Fighting rings are illegal for a very good reason, Quintus Park," Rojas says coldly. "They feed stereotypes, breed aggression in the upper ranks, and not to mention the fact that people _ die." _

"People who stepped into the ring knowing full well that they might," he points out. "They show up on their own, exercising their right to their own free will. Free will is not a crime."

"But murder is," the Captain hisses. "How many people die in those rings, Mr. Park? How many of them have you killed, for what? Money?"

"It's cute, the way you tried to just weasel an admission of guilt out of me like that." Quinn drags his fingers across the table, deliberately digging groves into the wood with the metal tips of the mittens. "Everyone I fought was still alive when they or I left the ring. If they were too stupid or stubborn to seek medical help afterwards, that's their issue, not mine."

"How many Alphas and betas are walking around with your teeth marks scarring their skin, I wonder?" Rojas taps the table twice more, looking toward the mirror before she looks back at him. "That's your signature, isn't it? You go for the throat, and you don't let go until they're unconscious, or you've taken your pound of flesh. That's what several witnesses reported. They say you're quite the feral one."

"How many scars do you think they left on me?" Quinn tilts his head. "I'm just an omega, miss," he simpers mockingly, spreading his arms as much as the shackles will allow. "What can someone like me do against a big, burly Alpha? I have to find some way to defend myself. What's so wrong about that?"

"Defending yourself from an attack on the street and deliberately engaging in illegal fights to harm others are two very, very different things, Park. Do you think your mother's position grants you leniency to behave as you wish?"

She's not expecting Quinn's answering snarl, that much is clear. Her eyes widen slightly, and her lips tighten over her teeth, but otherwise she doesn't react. Quinn lets his snarls simmer to deep, angry growls, his fingers crooked and digging into the table. If his hands weren't hobbled, he'd be ripping it apart. Or her.

"Do not," he rumbles, leaning in until Rojas leans back, her eyes shrewd and wary, "treat me like a rebellious teenager. Her position means about as much to me as I mean to her as a person."

"Ah." The Captain's lips twitch into a suggestion of a smile. "You didn't know, then? She is the reason we found you, Quintus. She's worried about you."

"She's worried about her image," Quinn corrects her, sneering. "She doesn't care about me aside from making sure I don't ruin her reputation."

"You sure you aren't a rebellious teenager?" Captain Rojas crosses her arms again and leans back, looking like the poster child of a relaxed police officer despite the tension in her shoulders. "You sound a bit like an angry pup trying to get back at a parent that didn't give them enough attention. Is that why you started seeking out fights?"

Quinn barks out a laugh. "Fighting is _ fun," _ he rumbles. "I fight because I love seeing Alphas crumble when a _ breeder _ beats them to a pulp."

"What a strange creature you are." The Captain chirps thoughtfully, tilting her head as she looks at him. "Tell me… Your father, he was an omega as well, wasn't he? Was he as free-spirited as you?"

"I don't like your tone, Rojas," Quinn growls, letting out his pheromones and watching her eyes widen when she smells and _ feels _ the depth of his rage. "Don't talk about my father. You ain't got the first fuckin' _ clue, _ so don't act like you do."

"Please calm yourself, Quintus," the Alphess says quietly, covering her mouth and nose to partially block the stench of his fury as it fills the room. Her words are muffled, but he can still hear her just fine. "It was not actually my intention to offend or upset you. However, you have to realize the position you've put yourself in. Underground fights are _ illegal, _ and if that Alphess doesn't pull through, you're facing murder charges. Your mother is worried about you. Say what you like, but no one wants their child to end up in prison, especially an om-"

"She'd be happier if I was in prison, I'm sure," Quinn cuts in curtly. "Even happier if I died there, because that would clean her issues up quite nicely. No one with influence wants the scandal a feral kid brings. Knowing her, she's already working to keep my name out of the papers."

"You talk like she considers you to be nothing more than a rabid dog." For the first time, the Captain looks uncertain, though she keeps her scent in, so Quinn can't tell for sure. He pulls his own scent back in, letting his pheromones dissipate as the forced air circulates and clears the room.

"Isn't that the consensus when it comes to ferals?" Leaning back in his seat, he looks at the two-way mirror, wondering how many curious and cocky officers are clustered in the small room to get a good look at the violent omega. "Beasts that only deserve to be muzzled and put down "for the good of society."" He says it with air quotations, rolling his eyes so hard they actually hurt.

"That does not make it right, if they have a plausible reason behind their behavior." Rojas leans closer, resting her hand on the table between them. Quinn stares at it, clenching his jaw to keep from baring his teeth. Any closer, and he's going to lunge, and he knows that she knows it.

"Don't hit me with that bullshit armchair psychology, lady," he growls. "You don't know a goddamn thing about me."

Rojas sighs and stands. "I know enough, and you're right. Your mother doesn't want your arrest reported in the papers, but she also doesn't want you sent to prison."

Quinn snorts. "Her options are pretty limited then, I'd say. What, is she planning on sending me to a monastery?" He follows her with his eyes as she walks toward the door, his teeth sharpening from unease and suspicion when she knocks twice on the heavy door. Even before it opens, she's moving away, turning to put her back to the closest corner. It doesn't take a genius to realize she's acting defensive, and Quinn grumbles quietly, curling his trapped fingers and baring his teeth.

When the door opens, the first thing that hits him is the scent -- it's dark and pungent and _ powerful, _ filling the room and overtaking everything in seconds. It feels like someone has wrapped an iron band around his chest and cut off his air. Quinn wheezes, gasping for breath at the sheer force of the _ domination _ pressing against his senses. He's never felt anything like it before.

A man steps into the room, dressed in muddy jeans and a faded, patched-up plaid shirt. It's pulled tight across his massive chest, the buttons straining and looking on the verge of popping at any moment. His dark brown hair is gelled back, showing a rugged face and a crooked, hawkish nose. Whiskey-colored eyes take in the room before fixating on Quinn; his breath catches in the back of his throat when he sees the man's bronze pupils.

_ Alpha Dom. _

Quinn has never seen an Alpha Dom before; not a real one. He's seen Alphas play the part in real life and in movies, wearing contacts and doing their best to emulate the raw, primal power that practically drips from the beasts, but it's always just an act. There's no way to fake the pheromones rolling from the man. He has to duck his head to get through the doorway, he's so tall, his body thickly muscled without tipping the scales into grotesque.

"Hello, Quintus," he says, his voice deep and rough. He reminds Quinn of the stories and myths surrounding the old forest gods; creatures that radiated power and wild magic, who ruled their territories unopposed, with temples built in their honor by worshipful followers. He looks so out of place in this cold, dull room. It leeches the color from his tanned skin, even if it does nothing to dampen the strength he exerts without effort.

"Who the fuck're you?" Quinn snaps his teeth, bracing his feet on the floor and keeping his palms pressed against the table. Part of him wants to slide to his knees and bare his throat in deference to the apex predator watching him calmly; the other part of him, the feral part that thrives on challenge and blood, wants to provoke this Alpha Dom and see what he's truly capable of.

"My name is Timber Noja." The Alpha has his hands in his pockets, every inch of his massive frame radiating calm despite the scent that batters at Quinn's senses and crawls across his skin. "I was hired by Mayor Park, your mother."

"Oh, yeah?" Pressing his back against the table, Quinn bares his teeth and growls, his canines sharp and his eyes yellow. He can feel his hackles bristling in response to the threat in front of him; he's never been one to back down from a challenge no matter which way the odds were stacked, and he's not about to start now. "Hired to what, show me the error of my ways?"

"Something to that effect," Noja agrees placidly. He looks at Captain Rojas and nods politely. "You may go, Captain. I'll take things from here."

Rojas hesitates, looking from the Alpha Dom to Quinn, and he realizes suddenly that she's _ apprehensive. _ His mother went over her authority for whatever is happening here, and Rojas doesn't like it. Whatever Eleanor Park has planned for him is enough to shake the Captain, but there's nothing she can do about it.

_ Sucks to have your feelings discarded so carelessly, doesn't it? _ he thinks viciously, resting his chin on his fist and watching her struggle. For omegas, it's part of the package, but Alphas don't typically have anyone to outrank them, unless an Alpha Dom steps in, and that's so rare that most of them don't even consider the possibility.

Noja looks at her, tilting his head, and that seems to do the trick. She nods, spares Quinn one last look, and mutters something in Spanish under her breath before she quickly and quietly leaves the room. As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Noja turns back to him and smiles.

"There we go, just us now." He approaches the table, his steps disarmingly silent despite his heavy boots and hulking figure. Pulling out the chair Rojas had sat in, he takes a seat across from Quinn and interlaces his fingers, resting them on the table and looking him over with mild curiosity.

"So, Quintus. Your mother has hired me to work with you on your behavior." There's something about the way he says _ behavior, _ like he doesn't like the way the word tastes on his tongue.

"I bet she has," Quinn mutters, glaring openly. "Am I supposed to be intimidated by your… everything?" He curls his lip and sneers.

"You are free to feel however you choose," Noja replies, spreading his hands in an open, welcoming gesture. "You will simply learn that certain actions and reactions have consequences."

"I'm not a toddler," Quinn spits, rage burning the back of his throat and coating his tongue. His words are bitter and poisonous, his fingers curling and aching from being locked in the mitts for so long. "I'm a grown fucking man, and I have rights, including the right to tell you to fuck the hell back off to your goddamn mountain."

"You have rights, to an extent." Noja pulls a crumpled, folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and carefully smoothes it out on the table. The crinkling is like knives in Quinn's head, driving his agitation higher until he growls, sharp and low. The Alpha Dom ignores him, setting a pair of half-moon reading glasses in place on the bridge of his nose and frowning down at the tiny print.

"Thought y'all Domknots were supposed to be the best of the best." He's baiting and he knows it, but the longer Noja stays, filling the room with his particular type of pheromones, the harder it is for him to just sit still and pretend to be even remotely civil.

"I don't need them," Noja says distractedly, clearly more focused on the document he's reading, "but it seems to make others feel more at ease, if they perceive those like me to have flaws. Ah, here it is." Clearing his throat, he picks up the paper. "Omega Quintus Jackson Park, you are hereby placed under the care of me, Timber Angor Noja, for the duration of indefinite and, or, until I see fit to release you from my care. Your rights have been signed over to me by your Power of Attorney -- your Alpha mother, Eleanor Bethany Park. As an unbonded, unpursued omega, and under the fourth bulleted point of our National constitution's Law of Omega section, "Any untethered omega shall still follow the Law of his, her, or their parents, if either parent is ranked beta or, preferably, Alpha. The unbonded omega is subject to their rules until such a time as the parent sees them married, or chooses to dissolve their right as Power of Attorney over the child. This includes medical care, legal actions, or if the omega were to become mated. At that juncture, the rights are assumed by the omega's mate." You remember your high school history class, I assume?" Noja looks at him over his glasses, his bronze pupils glowing faintly. "The laws are very much legal and binding, Quintus."

"You son of a-" Snarling, Quinn lurches out of his seat, bracing his hands on the table to vault across it and tackle Noja. His teeth catch the Alpha's collar, just shy of scraping his skin, and Quinn turns his head to bite properly, still snarling like a cornered beast, but Noja's broad, heavy hand clamps down on his nape, two fingers grinding _ hard _ into his e-gland. The Alpha Dom uses his grip to drag Quinn away, turning him and slamming his head into the table with enough force that he hears something crack beneath his ear. The blow dazes him, the world wavering for a few seconds as the sound of blood roars, muffled, in his ears. Noja leans over him, growling deeply, and the man's proximity gives Quinn his first real hint of kin-scent.

It shouldn't surprise him at all, that Noja is bear-kin. Even for an Alpha Dom, his size is a bit ridiculous. It explains his reactions up to this point -- bear-kin are typically mild and unassuming, until something sparks their anger.

Wheezing, he struggles weakly to free himself, his endorphins keeping him soft and unthreatening for the moment. "Le'go," he slurs, his growls twisting past his teeth as submissive whines that make his face burn with shame. He keeps his chin tucked to guard his throat; his head throbs, and the heat of Noja's palm burns his sensitive skin.

"I am not opposed to muzzling you again, Quintus," Noja rumbles against his cheek, leaning down to cover him completely. His hips press against Quinn's, a knee sliding between his legs to keep them spread and force him up onto his toes. Everything about their positions should scream _ sexual, _ but the overpowering _ domination _ rolling off of Noja in thick, oppressive waves turns it into a power struggle that Quinn has no hope of winning. Not with those fingers staying tight against his gland, overwhelming his system until he feels kitten-weak and nauseous.

"Your mother has hired me to see to your rank-reconditioning therapy, Quintus Park," the Alpha continues quietly. "She reached out to the group I work for, and asked for our best, so here I am. Until I see fit to return you to her, you belong to _ me. _ You will do as I say, dress how I tell you to dress, and follow my rules. You will eat what I give you, cook what I say, and learn what it means to be an _ omega. _ Your sister will return to your mother's house; as far as she is concerned, you've been sent on a remote, last-minute work trip, and you don't know when you'll be home. You received the email last night, and you left first thing this morning. You left her a note because you didn't want to wake her, but you've promised to call her as soon as you can. Whether or not you _ do _ will depend entirely on you and your behavior, Quintus."

"Son of a bitch," Quinn whispers, mortified by the tears he can feel dripping down his cheeks and rolling off his nose. He knows it's in response to the chemicals forcibly pumping through him, he knows he wouldn't typically be crying in this situation, and if not for those damn fingers keeping him cowed, he'd be tearing into Noja right now.

"You must think you're so powerful, keeping me like this to save your face," he whispers against the table, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Noja. "Hobbled, caught like a rabbit in a trap for you to you with as you please, unable to fight back; yeah, you're so fucking great, aren't you, Domknot?"

"You will have ample chances to retaliate once we are no longer in this place," Noja says, speaking against the shell of his ear. The heat of his breath makes Quinn tremble, and he bares his teeth uselessly. "My home is far more secluded, with far less of a crowd. I know you enjoy an audience, but I do not. There is enough stigma surrounding creatures like me; why feed the tales any more than I already have? I'm sure you can understand, though feral omegas are nearly as rare as Alpha Doms."

"Spoken like a true coward." Quinn laughs, soft and bitter. "You may as well kill me now and make an example of me. I will die before I ever bow to _ her _ whims. She doesn't deserve anything but misery."

"Such a martyr," Noja tuts. "What of Tabitha, then? Or will she suffer less, seeing as she is more obedient than you? A proper omega, Mayor Park called her. Your mother did mention that she is far more likely to listen without your influence, as well. Will you leave her by herself, just because you don't like to lose?"

"Go fuck yourself," Quinn hisses, trying to squirm free and huffing unhappily when the hand on his nape tightens. The newest flood of endorphins makes his stomach churn unpleasantly. "Don't you dare touch her."

"I promise, she is safe from me. I am only here for you, Quintus Park, and now that I have your cooperation, I believe it is time we get going. We have a lot of rules to cover, and I prefer to begin in my own den, rather than this concrete box. You can choose to remain conscious for the trip, or you can be sedated. Whichever it is depends entirely on your behavior once I let you go. Are you ready to decide?"

"Yes," Quinn grits out through clenched teeth. He waits until Noja's bulk moves away, the massive hand keeping him scruffed the last bit of contact between them. As soon as that's gone, he sucks in a deep breath, forcing his shaking legs to hold his weight when he stands. The sudden surge of dizziness makes him stumble, sour saliva dripping from his open mouth onto the table. When Noja helps to steady him, he growls but doesn't snap at the man watching him with dark, calculating eyes.

"Good choice," the Alpha Dom says, smiling approvingly. "You'll enjoy the scenery, I think. It deserves to be appreciated."

_ I'm gonna kill you, _ Quinn seethes. _ One way or another, I'm going to fucking kill you. Then, I'm gonna kill _her.

"Lead the way," is what he says out loud, knowing that Noja can't get a read off of him with his scent locked down. He'll play along and bide his time for now. He'll let this arrogant Domknot think his methods are working. And then, when he's had enough, he'll slit the fucker's throat while he's sleeping.

Once Noja is taken care of, Quinn is going to tear down everything his mother has built. He'll kill her after he's taken everything from her, and then he and Tabby will be free.

"Wise choice." Noja knocks lightly on the door, watching him with those piercing, whiskey-colored eyes. His pupils dilate, seeming to glow a little brighter before he turns to greet the officer that opens the door for them. Quinn isn't sure what to call the expression he'd just seen, but it doesn't matter.

_ Play along, _ he reminds himself, clenching his teeth. _ Just play along for now. It'll all be over soon enough. _

"Come on, Quintus," Noja says, beckoning him over, and Quinn has no choice but to follow, glaring at the smirking officer and belatedly recognizing him as officer Creek.

"See you around, breeder," Creek mutters as he passes.

"Get fucked, honey," Quinn says sweetly, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile.

He swears he hears Noja chuckle under his breath.

\---

Quinn isn't sure what he was expecting, but it's not the sight of the cabin that greets him at the end of the gravel drive. It's clearly been built by hand, the rough-hewn siding showing faults and gouges that only come from hand tools and hours of patient work. It's a one-story home, squat and large; tucked at the base of a mountain, with nothing but trees stretching out for miles in any direction. They've been driving for almost five hours with barely any conversation between them, though despite Quinn's agitation, he can't say it's been wholly uncomfortable.

"This is it?" he scoffs, rattling his shackles when he gestures at the cabin. "What the hell is this?"

"My den." Noja parks at the edge of the rounded driveway, gravel crunching beneath his boots when he slides out of the Durango. He shuts the door heavily and walks around the front of the truck to open his door for him, reaching in to help him out.

"Don't fucking touch me," Quinn snarls, smacking the offered hand away and climbing out with far less grace and a lot more noise. The air outside is fresh and clean, despite everything being layered heavily in the bear-kin's scent. There's no doubt that this is his territory, which puts Quinn on edge; he's out of his element and well out of his comfort zone, and they both know it.

"Come inside, I'll show you around." Noja starts to walk away, and Quinn tenses, eyeing the driveway back to the dirt road that replaced concrete and asphalt over an hour ago.

"How far do you think you'll get, sounding like your own prison line?" the Alpha Dom calls over his shoulder without looking. "I'll catch you before you make it off the gravel. Don't be stupid, Quintus, we both know how smart you really are."

"Why bring me here then?" He growls, but follows Noja, taking in the trees that tower over them in this small, man-made clearing. There's flower beds that run along the foundation of the house; a wrap-around porch with thick, sturdy beams. The grass is brown, dead until spring again, and the flower beds are bare aside from a few winter bushes, but everything looks like it's been lovingly maintained.

"Classrooms and dungeons are not my preference." Noja holds the door open, motioning him to go through first, so Quinn steps into the main area and looks around. It's all rustic and warm; even the furniture looks handmade, right down to the dark brown cushions. Here and there, he sees small suggestions of hunting; antlers incorporated into the arms of the chairs, a fur blanket folded on the back of the couch, a few cushions with fur lining. It' exactly what he'd imagine the den of a bear-kin to look like.

"So you'd rather bring a feral stranger into your home to destroy your stuff?" he mutters, touching the closest cushion and realizing that it's dyed leather hide. It gives easily beneath the tips of the mittens; he wonders how soft it really is.

"Things can be rebuilt. A person is much harder to piece back together once they've been destroyed."

It's the last thing he expected to hear, but when he looks at Noja, the man is walking toward a wall that is little more than floor-to-ceiling windows. Curious despite himself, Quinn follows and stares, stunned, at the deck overlooking the forest. Below them is a valley dominated by a lake, the water almost impossibly blue.

"It's like a painting," he whispers, touching the glass and flinching when the metal clinks loudly against it. "How did you even find a place like this?"

"I followed my desire, until the forest led me here." Turning to him, Noja takes his hand and turns it palm-up, eyeing the mitten critically. He's frowning when he pulls a small key from his shirt pocket. "So many have grown comfortable in their metal cities and fabricated dens. They forget what true peace looks like."

The first mitten comes free easily, and Quinn works the ache out of his hand, glaring at the red marks and the faint smears that promise to darken to bruises later on. "The fuck does that even mean, 'followed your desire?.'"

Once the second mitten is off, Noja sets them aside and massages Quinn's other hand, his thumb warm and his fingers careful. Growling, he yanks his hand away, glaring at the bear until he holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Only trying to help. And it means exactly what I said. Have you ever wanted something, and when you thought about it, you found your way to it? How did you come across the underground, otherwise? You wanted it, and you found it."

"Who the hell taught you about life?" Quinn snaps. Noja unlocks his wrist and ankle cuffs with another set of keys, rolling them into a rough coil and setting them on top of the mittens.

"My mother," he replies quietly. "She taught me many things, along with my father. They're good people." His eyes flick over, pinning Quinn in place. The intensity in them sends a shiver down his spine; he wisely keeps his mouth shut, well aware of the threat of danger hanging in the air if he says anything else.

He's violent, not _ stupid. _

"Can you do something about your fucking pheromones?" he complains, covering his nose to breathe in his own familiar, comforting scent.

"I am," Noja says evenly. "If I wasn't exerting control, you would not be standing. It is the curse of the Alpha Dom. We cannot suppress our scent the way the other ranks can. Now come, I will give you the tour. It's not much, so it will be easy to memorize."

The main room is easy enough -- it's all open concept. The living room and the dining room dominate the space, with a decent sized kitchen on the opposite side of the room from the wall of windows. Even the counters and the island look handmade, the wood sanded down and sealed for ease of cleaning. The walls are sealed with plaster to keep out moisture, the natural curve of the wood adding a uniqueness that Quinn can't help but touch. It's rough under his fingertips, but far from ugly.

At the far end of the room is an open doorway that leads to the hallway. It runs the length of the house from left to right, with three doors at one end and two at the other.

"My room," Noja explains, gesturing to the left where the two doors are. "One leads to a closet with towels, and the other is my room. If I'm in there, and you need something, just knock.

"This side is yours. Come." He guides Quinn down the hallway, which is well lit by lights hanging from the ceiling. Noja opens the first door to show him his bathroom, complete with a large clawfoot tub and a rain showerhead.

"Don't worry about using up all the hot water; there's more than enough in the tank."

The second door is another linen closet, but there's plenty of shelf space for storing anything else.

"This will be your bedroom." Noja opens the last door, and Quinn stares. It's much larger than he expected it to be, and well lit by large windows that let in the sunlight. The bed is bigger than one person needs, and piled high with blankets and furs. There's nothing on the walls, but it still looks _ comfortable. _

"I have been made aware of what blockers you take, and when your heats are scheduled." Quinn feels fingers press against his shoulder, urging him to explore. He pads into the room and looks around, seeing the simple but sturdy nightstand beside his bed, and the chest of drawers almost as tall as him. When he opens a drawer, he sees his own clothes folded neatly inside and clenches his jaw.

"When you are in heat, you are to keep to your room. I will check on you every twelve hours, and I will be muzzled for your comfort. If you need to use the bathroom, it's through that door." He gestures to the door, which Quinn hadn't even noticed. "Food and water will be provided for you, and I will ensure that you have plenty of both. I will restock as needed."

"What about when I'm not in heat?" Quinn catches sight of the sliding glass doors and heads toward them, peering out at the small, private deck that's apparently his. It doesn't connect to the rest of the porch; this is just his.

"You are free to explore, within reason." Noja is behind him; when did he move? How did Quinn not hear him? Before he can spin around, he sees movement in the corners of his eyes and something thin wraps around his throat. He struggles, snarling, but Noja is quicker than he is, and clearly practiced at working with struggling prey. Quinn hears a click, and then suddenly the Alpha Dom is several feet away, watching him touch and tug at the leather collar with unreadable eyes.

"What the fuck is this?" Quinn snarls. The collar locks in place at the nape of his neck, and there's some sort of small transmitter box just to the left of his adam's apple.

"You may explore up to a mile from the cabin unaccompanied." Noja is looking at the collar, his pupils bright. "You will know when you reach the limits of your range; the transmitter will beep in warning. If you ignore the warning, you will be shocked. The farther you go, the higher the voltage will get, until you come back within a reasonable distance. Please do not attempt to outsmart the transmitter; I do not want to have to track your unconscious ass down in the middle of the night because you were too stubborn to heed the warnings."

"This is fucking inhumane!" Quinn shouts. "I'm not a fucking _ dog!" _

His back hits the wall hard, Noja's broad hand flat against his collarbone. The Alpha's teeth are barely an inch from his eye, thicker and longer than his own when the bear-kin opens his mouth to growl.

"You are whatever I say you are from now on, Quintus Park," he warns, his fingers creeping up to touch the edge of the collar. "Be grateful you have a measure of freedom within my home. My colleagues would have preferred you chained to their dungeon walls, to be passed between them until your spirit was as battered as your body. That is their idea of reconditioning. Your belly would have known nothing but their cum and water. Your ass would have dripped with their seed and piss. That tongue of yours would be cut for every little biting remark and sneer. Your mother gave us quite a lot of freedom to break you, and they would have enjoyed every moment."

  
  


"Wouldn't you?" Quinn hisses.

Noja bares his teeth, his expression filled with disgust and contempt. "I value life far more than that," he rumbles. "Everyone has their methods; this is mine. You are not a slave, to be made mindless for the enjoyment of others. You are an omega, but you are not weak. Many omegas are proud of who they are, and they should be. Without omegas, everything collapses. The world needs creatures of every rank to maintain balance. We cannot change how we are born, but that does not mean we have to suffer because of it."

"And yet here you are, hiding away from the world." Quinn digs his claws into Noja's wrist, trying to yank the man's hand away from his throat, but he may as well be trying to move a mountain, for all the good it does. "You don't believe your own shit."

"I believe it with every fiber of my soul," Noja replies, quiet and intense, his eyes burning through Quinn. "Bears are solitary creatures. We do not like others invading our territory, but I have brought you here to keep you safe. I brought your clothes here, and I've done my best to make sure you will be comfortable. The rest is up to you. We can fight every day, if that's what makes you feel better, but know that it will solve nothing. You will not win. I will hurt you, if that is how you desire to be taught, but I will not enjoy it, and neither will you."

Noja lets him go and steps away, giving Quinn space to catch his breath and seethe.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour," the bear-kin says, appearing calm and relaxed once more despite the emotions churning in his eyes. "If you've never had venison, today will be a new experience for you. Please feel free to freshen up. There's salve for your hands and ankles in the bathroom. Come out whenever you are ready."

He leaves, closing the door behind him quietly, and Quinn sinks to the floor and hugs himself tightly, belatedly aware of how much he's shaking.

"Damn it," he whispers, gritting his teeth until his jaws ache and his ears ring. "Damn it, damn it, _ damn it." _

_ I'll fucking kill him, _ he vows anew. _ Fucking Domknot. You can't keep me here. I'll find a way. Don't you worry, Tabby. I'm gonna get the hell out of here, and I'll get you away from that bitch, I swear. Then it'll just be you and me. _

"You think you can keep me here, grizzly?" he whispers, baring his teeth. "You'll see. You'll fucking see. You have no idea, not yet, but you will."

Let the fucking games begin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I'm so sorry I haven't replied to the comments yet -- I'm getting there, I promise! Thank you so, so much to everyone who has commented, left kudos, and otherwise so far! It means so much to me, y'all have NO IDEA!!!
> 
> This chapter is a liiittle shorter, but there's a lot of dialogue, so I hope you aren't too disappointed!
> 
> All of this is unbetaed, and it's written and posted on my phone, so if you see any glaring mistakes, please don't hesitate to let me know!
> 
> Thank you all so much, and I hope you enjoy!!

"When are you going to learn?"

Noja's voice is a quiet rumble in his ears, soothing in a way that Quinn has no intentions of falling into. He doesn't bother answering, but he knows that the bear-kin isn't just talking to himself; he knows Quinn is awake. His entire body aches, especially his throat; it feels like he's swallowed fire.

"If you continue to do this to yourself, the damage will become permanent. Surely even your stubbornness has its limits, Quintus."

Wet fingers touch his throat, smearing a cooling salve across his damaged skin. By now, it must be a mess of purpling bruises and burns from the transmitter; wherever Noja touches tingles as the salve sinks in and starts to work. Quinn growls in warning, finally opening his eyes and glaring up at the man hunched over him. The Alpha has laid him on the couch, which is just as comfortable as he'd imagined it to be, and that just makes him more irritated.

"I thought you said you weren't gonna track my ass through the forest," he rasps, ignoring the pain and doing his best to sneer despite his vulnerable position.

"But you make it so easy to find you," Noja replies mildly, wiping his hands on an old towel and dipping them into a different salve. This one is thick and green, and Quinn knows for a fact that it'll stick to his skin like honey and pull the inflammation and pain from his injuries better than any over the counter pain medicine. "You charge through the brush like a rampaging bull. A newborn pup could find you. Is sleeping through the night such a chore?"

"This house fuckin' _ reeks," _ Quinn growls, glaring at Noja's face despite the man steadfastly ignoring him. "Why the fuck would I sleep here when you're right down the hall? I have no intention of staying in this fuckin' cabin with you."

Noja taps the transmitter hard enough to make him flinch, pain radiating out across the electrical burns; it's dulled, but it still _ hurts, _ especially when it's aggravated. "Stop that," he snarls, smacking the Alpha's hand away and smirking when his claws catch skin. He admires the lines, enjoying the droplets of red that well up and leak from the cuts.

"I will stop when you do, Quintus Park." Noja cuffs the side of his head, making his ears ring and his vision blur. He feels the bear-kin's wrist drag against his shirt and knows that the bastard has just wiped the blood off on him. "For now, rest until the salve takes effect. I will make you an omelet, since your throat cannot handle anything harsher. What a shame; I had planned to make pancakes."

"You're fuckin' psychotic," Quinn grumbles, blinking until his vision clears and glaring at the man's retreating back. "Pancakes? We're not some happy family enjoying a meal together."

"Perhaps, if you were not such a brat, there would be more to enjoy."

He can't see Noja from this angle, but he can hear him rooting through cabinets in the kitchen. Seething over being called something so childish, Quinn forces himself to his feet and stalks after the bear. "The fuck did you just call me?"

Noja doesn't even look at him. "You are not a teenager anymore, Quintus. You are a grown man. You might want to try acting like one. You may be feral, in some regards, but in others, you're nothing more than a rebellious child acting out to get attention."

"You don't know a goddamn thing about me." Quinn ducks in close, aiming a punch at Noja's kidney, but the Alpha Dom is fast; faster than someone his size has any right to be. He whirls and catches Quinn's fist, gripping tight enough to grind the bones together. Before Quinn can react, he's spun and slammed down over the island, his caught hand twisted behind his back and pinned in place at an angle that sends pain throbbing from his wrist to his shoulder.

"I know more than enough about you," Noja growls against his e-gland. "Your mother was more than happy to provide plenty of information, biased though it was. Everything else was easy enough to find out, from your friends to your favorite places to go, to what you like to eat. I know your past, and your dreams for your sister. I know you have no real dreams of your own, Quintus. You gave everything to Tabitha and kept nothing for yourself. How very thoughtful of you."

"Don't you fucking dare talk about her," Quinn snarls, glaring from the corner of his eye. "You don't know _ anything." _

"Your father died when Tabitha was only five. That would have made you about fourteen. That's a very, very long time to be carrying around this anger you've got for your mother. Aren't you tired, Quintus?"

Quinn knocks his head back, hissing in pleasure when the back of his skull connects with Noja's face; he can hear and feel the satisfying crunch of the man's nose, and viciously hopes it's broken. It's more than worth it, even when the bear-kin's massive palm slams his head into the island a heartbeat later.

"You don't know a fuckin' thing, you prick," he growls, writhing and straining against the Alpha Dom's unforgiving hold despite the pain. "So don't pretend you do."

"I do not want to be your enemy, Quintus, regardless of what you might think." Noja's fingers tangle through his curls, but rather than yanking his head up, they begin massaging Quinn's scalp. "I am not here to beat you or break you, but I will not tolerate your violent behavior. You must learn that there will always be repercussions for your actions, be it running away for the third night in a row-" He lets go of Quinn's wrist and touches the back of the collar, where the bruising can't be nearly as bad. "- or attacking me when I bring up memories you don't want to revisit. There are many things you must learn, and learn them you will. It's up to you how, though. I do not like to see others in pain, but sometimes, new pain is necessary to help uproot the old. That does not mean that either party is going to like it."

"You talk like one of the rich fucks," Quinn mutters, breathing harshly against the island counter. His throat aches, his shoulder throbs, and his hand pulses pain that reaches all the way up to his elbow. As soon as Noja puts space between them, he shoves himself up and stalks back toward the family room.

"I come from wealth. That does not mean I define myself by it." Noja begins washing vegetables in the sink, handling them with an almost comical amount of care. Quinn perches on the back of a chair and watches him, rubbing some of the blue cooling salve into his wrist and hand. There's a television mounted on the wall, and he knows that Noja gets cable, even way out here in the middle of the woods, but the noise will only irritate him right now. He and Tabby rarely ever watched the news; they preferred movies. It was their own little routine, and one he isn't willing to share with anyone else.

"Why choose this business then, if you're that wealthy?" He slides down into the chair and kicks the side of the coffee table lightly, surprised at how sturdy it is. It looks like someone took a slice of a tree trunk and sanded it smooth, then stained it to help bring out the natural color of the wood; it still has bark around the edges, rough and imperfect against his fingers when he runs them along the side. His foot smarts from the kick, but it's an inconsequential pain compared to all the others he's suffered recently.

"Why pick the underground, when you're that smart?" Noja looks at him from across the island countertop, the thud of his knife steady and precise as he cuts the cleaned vegetables. "I've seen your report cards," he says by way of explanation, before Quinn can ask. "Smart enough to get into any college you wanted, just like your sister did, but you chose a construction job. Why is that, Quintus?"

"Jesus, could you just-" Shaking his head, he growls and drags a hand through his hair. "Don't call me _ Quintus. _ Only _ she _ does that. Call me Quinn. And why would I go to college? There's nothin' I want to be."

He should feel a deeper sense of violation at the clear breach of his privacy, but having his academic life rooted through is nothing compared to the rest of what Noja has already ferreted up about him. Being the son of someone so influential taught him a long time ago that your private life was never truly private.

"You wanted to be a marine biologist, didn't you?" Noja isn't even watching where he's chopping, which is either a testament to his cooking skills, or a mark of arrogance on his part. "Most of the selected classes you took later in your high school years were science and biology; physics and math, and a few years of writing. Did you enjoy writing?"

"Do you enjoy sharing a profession with men and women who rape and beat omegas until they brainwash them into the behaviors they desire?"

The knife comes down with a heavy _ thunk, _ and Quinn hears an accompanying _ crack _ that may be the wooden handle giving beneath Noja's grip. He watches, viciously satisfied, as the Alpha Dom closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"There are certain… rules that are strictly enforced within our company," he says quietly. Quinn's ears perk, his curiosity piqued. He'd wanted to provoke Noja, to force him to show his hand. He wants to see what's behind that calm mask he wears, because no one is that controlled without having a few monsters muzzled for their efforts.

Quinn would know that better than anyone.

"Yeah?" he quips, leaning forward in his seat. "Doesn't sound like it. Why would you even need rules, if all you're supposed to do is bring bitches like me to heel?"

"Do _ not _ call yourself a bitch," Noja snaps, anger crackling in his eyes. His pheromones fluctuate, pressing harshly against Quinn's senses and stealing his breath. His lungs seize, his chest heaving once, twice, and then Noja sighs and the pressure is gone. He gasps for breath, wheezing quietly and touching his sore throat with a wince.

"Why the fuck does it matter to you, what I call myself?" he rasps.

Noja doesn't answer for a moment, busying himself with filling a glass with ice and water from the fridge and bringing it into the living room. He slides open the end table drawer and pulls out a handmade coaster, putting it on the coffee table and setting the glass down on it.

"I wouldn't care, if that's what you truly thought about yourself," he says quietly, meeting Quinn's wary gaze with his own unreadable eyes. "But your self-deprecating opinions are the manifestation of your surroundings. Those Alpha Doms I spoke of before are no longer in this business, because of what they did. I used them as an example to teach, and yes, to scare you. Your mother could have easily handed you off to men like them, though thankfully, she did not. Possibly because the scandal would have been far greater, if someone had found out she had given her son over to rapists in order to "teach him a lesson." Thankfully, she decided to go for a much more law-abiding route, though many would still find these practices inhumane, depending on how they looked at them, and what methods were used."

"So they're all saints like you then, are they?" Quinn mutters, his muscles coiled and his chin lowered to protect his throat. He couldn't put himself in the more dominant position if he tried, not unless Noja was sitting and he was standing on one of the pieces of furniture, but he can keep himself guarded, and let the bear know he has no intention to submit. Neither of them are wolf-kin, but some things are universal throughout the ranks, and hierarchies will always be one of them.

"Not all of them are bad people," Noja replies, returning to the kitchen and picking up his knife. He stares at it for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before he goes back to chopping peppers.

"That's not a fucking answer, and you know it."

Surprisingly, the Alpha Dom chuckles. "Saying yes would imply you believe me to be a saint, Quinn, and we both know I am far from that." Lifting his cutting board, he slides the diced peppers into a bowl and moves onto chopping onions. "There are good people who do what I do, and there are people who are less than ideal. Thankfully, we have a system in place to weed out the less than ideal candidates, though a few slip through the cracks now and then. We are a tight-knit community though, there being so few of us, and they all make mistakes eventually."

"So those asshole you threatened me with the other day, they're guys like that, then?" Quinn sips his water, sighing gratefully at the cool relief. The salve does its job, but it's not perfect, and he knows he's done a lot of damage to himself in the last few days, but he's stubborn to a fault; telling him not to try something is essentially like signing a pact saying that he's going to.

"They were," Noja admits, his voice dropping to a low, angry rumble, though this time he keeps his scent controlled. "They were the reason the company got overhauled for the better. The situation I mentioned in particular happened several years ago, and it was kept out of the papers. Someone paid a lot of money to keep the omega's death quiet. I was one of the ones responsible for bringing in one of the Alpha Doms who had a hand in her death. He spoke of her reconditioning with such _ pride. _ His only regret was that she had died so easily. My only regret was that he didn't live to see the trial."

Noja says it so calmly, his voice as frigid as ice, that it takes a moment to sink in. When it does, Quinn almost drops his glass; his head whips around so fast his neck cracks, the pain faint and inconsequential compared to the shock he feels.

"You killed him?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"I did." Noja's pupils and irises are bronze -- just the memory is enough to rile him that much. "I never attempted to hide what I did, or the wounds he inflicted as he fought for his life. When asked, I did not lie. They considered that punishment served, on all counts."

"You said he was an Alpha Dom, too. There's already so few of you. Why choose so drastic a punishment, just because he killed a breeder?"

Noja growls, a soft sound full of warning, and Quinn feels his hackles bristle in a fear response as his lips curl. "She was not _ just _ a _ breeder," _ the man rumbles. "She was a young woman with a promising future who had the misfortune of having a tyrannical father."

"If she was there for reconditioning, then she was feral," Quinn points out.

Taking a deep breath, Noja scrapes the onions into the bowl and mixes them in with the peppers by hand. "She was a bright, talented writer who wanted to go to college," he says, grabbing bottles of unlabeled spices and adding without measuring. "Her only crime was wanting an education over wanting to marry the Alpha her father chose for her." The bear-kin takes a cast iron pan off its hook, pours oil in, and sets it on the stove, lighting the gas flame beneath it before he looks at Quinn.

"I've been doing this job for over a decade, and you're the first omega I've met that I'd consider feral. The others just wanted a chance to live their lives, even for just a day, under their own power. Unfortunately for them, and for you, society decided a long time ago that omegas were no longer capable of making that choice."

"But, what, you think we are?" Quinn sneers. "Then why are you still in the business of reconditioning?"

"Who says I am?" Noja pulls a cardboard carton of eggs from the fridge and begins cracking them into a bowl. "I hadn't taken a job in years before the agency had your mother contact me. The last omega I brought here, regretfully, ran away. Broke the lock off her collar somehow and disappeared in the middle of the night. The omega before her, well. He hit me over the head with a pan and bolted; that was before I even used the transmitter collars. Being this far out in the woods, it took days to get a search party together. By the time anyone started looking, they had a good week's head start, and a good bit of cash out of my wallet. No one ever found them, as far as I know. After the second time, I figured it was time I retired. I'm not as young as I used to be, clearly."

The smell of cooking omelets fills the room and makes his mouth water. Quinn licks his lips and swallows, barely even noticing the discomfort this time. "Didn't seem to have much trouble knockin' me down," he admits begrudgingly. "You sure you weren't just wooed by a pretty face?"

He isn't entirely sure how to interpret the look Noja levels at him, but it makes his skin prickle all the way down his spine. "I'm very sure," the bear grunts. He shakes his head, his dark hair fluttering freely before falling in thick, loose tufts around his face. It covers his eyes and touches his cheeks; hides his ears and falls to just below his shoulders. It looks better like this, less civilized and more wild; gelling it back certainly doesn't mesh with his mountain-man lumberjack appearance.

The only time Quinn hasn't seen him wear boots is in the house; if he's not wearing jeans, he's in sweatpants with charcoal holes burned through them from the fireplace or the fire pit in the backyard. When he takes off his flannel plaid shirts, he typically favors plain t-shirts or long-sleeved shirts. His wardrobe is a lot more laidback and plain than Quinn's -- his dark jeans and ribbed tank tops are usually reserved for the underground rings. Otherwise he likes band tees or graphic prints and bright colors. His clothes are the one indulgence he allows himself as an omega aside from his gentleness toward Tabitha. He likes bright patterns and soft things; harsher materials tend to aggravate his skin and give him a rash. Jeans aren't too bad, after he's sent them through the wash a few times to soften them up, or he puts his pride on the back burner long enough to buy a pair of jeans made specifically for omegas, though that's a rare occurrence.

"Quinn? Are you alright?"

Realizing that he's lost himself staring at the Alpha's face, Quinn shakes his head roughly and scowls. "So did he break your nose when he hit you with the pan? That why you look like that?" He gestures at his own face for emphasis, and Noja laughs, setting a plate down in front of him along with utensils and a napkin. Quinn looks at him, confused, and then toward the dining room table. One of Noja's house rules has been that they have to eat all of their meals together, and every meal must be eaten at the table.

"It's not so terrible, to break rules every now and then," Noja allows, smiling at him. He sits across from Quinn, on the floor in front of the couch, and watching the massive man squeeze himself into such a narrow space is beyond comical, but for some reason, Quinn can't bring himself to laugh. He takes a bite of his omelet instead, making an involuntary noise of surprise at the taste.

"An Alpha that can cook, I know, what a surprise," Noja jokes, not for the first time. It's become a bit of a running joke over the last three days, though not a kind one. Quinn's mother can hardly boil water without setting off the smoke alarm -- she has cooks to make her food for her, since she's so inept at it. His father used to do all of the cooking, and he taught Quinn and Tabby how to cook as well.

_ It's natural, for an omega, _ he used to say, joking quietly with them. _ Alphas, they know how to bring us the kills, but after that? Forget it. You can trust them with a knife, my little peas, but never with a pan. They'll burn your den down every time. _

"Who taught you to cook?" Quinn asks through his mouthful. He hates to admit it, and he never will out loud, but the bear was right -- the omelet is kinder on his throat than pancakes would have been, even with the peppers and onions.

"The same man who gave me my face." Noja chuckles fondly, wiping a bit of egg from the corner of his mouth with the rough, dirt stained pad of his thumb; no matter how clean he gets, Quinn is pretty sure he'll always be stained by the earth, since he works so closely with it. "He and my mother, they both love to cook. An unusual pair, they are. Two of the most headstrong and stubborn Alphas you'll ever meet, but their love for each other? It burns like a volcano. Deep, passionate. It doesn't look like much on the surface, but underneath? It's an inferno."

Quinn stares. "Your parents are both Alphas? How does that even _ work?" _

"Better than you realize," Noja replies calmly, nudging his plate with a knuckle to remind him to eat. Quinn growls reflexively, hunkering over his food and baring his teeth. When he's sure the Alpha Dom isn't trying to take it away, he pulls it closer to his chest and wraps a protective arm around it, keeping his face close and eating quickly.

"Slow down, kid, I'm not gonna steal your kill." As if to prove his point, Noja leans back against the couch, picking up his own plate to give Quinn more space. His nose looks bruised from Quinn's earlier headbutt, now that he's paying attention to it, but not bloody or broken.

"How did two Alphas even fall in love?" he mutters into his omelet, enjoying the blend of flavors and the surprising addition of sharp cheddar that makes his inner child giggle when the strings break and catch against his chin. He wipes them away, licking his fingers clean before tearing into the rest of his breakfast like a starving wolf.

"The same way anyone falls in love. They met, they Bonded, and the rest fell into place naturally." He can feel Noja's eyes on him, but he refuses to look up, growling a warning to remind the bear-kin to keep his distance. The man coughs, a dry sound, and doesn't try to push his luck.

"My mother was a school teacher on the Cocopah Reservation in Arizona. My father was a migrant worker from Mexico, looking for a new life. Theirs was a True Bond, formed at first sight, so no one could contest it. They could try, for all the same reasons you could think to spout at me, but their Bond is legitimate, and they each bear the Mark to prove it. She is a bear, and he is a grison; I just happened to take after her."

The omelet is gone far too soon for his liking, and Quinn finds himself wiping his fingers across the plate and licking them clean. "The hell's a grison?" he asks around them, ignoring Noja's amused chuff.

"A type of mustelid. Native to the Americas and Mexico."

"You don't have an accent."

He can almost hear Noja roll his eyes as the man clears away their plates, his hand hovering well out of reach for a moment, waiting respectfully for Quinn to willingly pass his over.

"My parents worked very hard to make sure I had every advantage I could get. Our lives were already difficult enough, considering their union and my rank, once I was born. I have an accent, when I want to, I've just learned to speak without one. It makes it easier."

"So you're just hiding, then," Quinn scoffs. "How brave of you."

He doesn't hear Noja put the plates in the sink, or walk back into the living room, but suddenly the man is looming over him behind the chair. His broad, powerful hand cups Quinn's chin and throat carefully, tilting his head back with just enough force to hint at a real threat if Quinn tries to struggle or lash out.

"I am not the only one who must hide every day, Quinn Park," the Alpha rumbles, his voice thick and roughened by his accent. It's hard to place, something powerful and unique in its own right, and fitting, now that Quinn hears it. "Before you seek to judge others for hiding parts of themselves, perhaps first you should look at those pieces of yourself that you hide away."

Before Quinn can muster up any kind of witty retort, Noja lets him go and steps away, striding toward the side-deck. "If you need me, call over the radio," he says over his shoulder, his stereotypical American accent somehow sounding wrong and alien to Quinn's ears now. "I've got to go and check the traps; it's going to take me a few hours. Clean your room, and feel free to browse any of the books or movies in the entertainment system. I'll wash the dishes once I get back. If your throat starts to hurt again, use more salve; I've got more than enough herbs to make another batch."

He shrugs into his coat, a thick leather thing lined with sheep wool and rabbit fur, and tugs a knitted cap over his head, hesitating before he steps through the sliding door and looking at Quinn.

"Don't break my shit," he orders, his lips twitching into a crooked grin.

"Don't tempt me," Quinn snaps back, glaring at the Alpha Dom when he laughs before shutting the door behind him. "Prick."

Looking around the house, Quinn rubs his chin distractedly, his skin still prickling where Noja touched him. _ "Prick," _ he says again, louder and with more feeling. His room isn't even messy aside from his pyjamas being on the floor, and they can stay there for all he cares; he's going to wear them again tonight anyway.

"I'm not your goddamn maid!" he shouts at the empty deck, growling despite the pain and kicking the island for good measure. "Son of a _ bitch." _ His foot throbbing, he rests his elbows on the counter and leans his weight on them, sighing in frustration.

"This dude is fucked in the head," he decides, his mind reeling from everything he's learned over the course of the morning. He's sharing space with a _ murderer, _ though given the circumstances, wasn't it justified?

Was it? Or is this just a way for Noja to manipulate him and try and get his guard down, to make him trust the bear?

"As if, you fuckin' psycho," he grunts, shaking his head emphatically. "No way in _ hell. _ You're working on that _ bitch's _ behalf. You can go rot in hell alongside her for all I care. Fuck all of you."

Smacking the bear-kin upside the head with a cast iron frying pan clearly didn't kill him -- if that really did happen -- and trying to outwit the transmitter won't work, so he's going to have to think of something else to get the hell out of this place.

Noja said it himself -- Quinn _ isn't _ stupid. He'll figure this out, one way or another.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. _

_ Click. _

"Hello, this is Tabitha Park. Who may I ask is calling?"

Quinn lets out the breath he's been holding, barely keeping a whine caught behind his teeth at the sound of his sister's sweet, curious voice. "Hey, Tabby, hi. It's me."

"Q!" Her curiosity changes instantly to breathtaking delight, that single letter carrying so much joy and love that it almost has the power to transform him from the bitter, jaded creature he's become.

If anyone could do it, it would be Tabby.

"Q, how are you! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize the number! I tried calling you, but it said your phone was out of service, and mother said you may not be in range for a while anyway, because of your current job."

_ Job, my ass, you heartless demon. _ He can't say that though, not to Tabby. He can't weigh her down with this. He's kept so much from her already in the name of giving her the best life he possibly can; what's one more lie on the pile? So long as she's happy, and she gets everything in life she deserves, then that's all that matters to him.

"Yeah, no, I know. I'm sorry about that. Crazy story, but my phone actually got taken out by a chunk of falling rebar. A split second later, and it would have been my head if Brian hadn't yanked me out of the way."

"Jesus, Quinn!" Tabby gasps, and he can already hear her fretting over his safety -- the only person in his life, aside from maybe Tappik and, on the rare occasion, Trigger, who's ever cared what happened to him.

"Hey," he croons, trilling sweetly to soothe her. "Hey, none of that, flower. I'm alright, obviously. I'm talkin' to you now, ain't I?"

He's doing his best to ignore the fact that Noja is moving around in the house behind him, listening to both halves of the conversation with his freakishly enhanced Alpha Dom hearing. Noja is courteously pretending that Quinn has the privacy to call his sister, but unless the bear is more than two miles away from his own house, there's no way he won't hear at least Quinn's half of the phone call. And since he claimed he didn't trust Quinn not to call someone other than Tabitha, him leaving was out of the question.

"You say that, but you sound like you've been swallowing nails and sawdust," Tabby fusses at him. She's not there to see the way Quinn touches the healing marks that circle his throat, but she knows him better than anyone, and he may sound quite a bit better than he did yesterday -- that salve has got some wickedly strong healing properties -- but she's right; he still doesn't sound the way he should.

_ Damn it. _ "What, this?" He makes a show of coughing and trying to cover it up with a laugh while glaring at Noja's bulky shoulders from the corner of his eye when he turns to rest his back against one of the railing posts. "Nah, I just caught a bit of a cold while I was up laying some of the substrate for the roof. I'm alright, flower, don't you worry about me. You know I've had way worse."

"During _ summer, _ maybe, but it's almost December now, beanstalk," his sister protests. Noja isn't looking straight at him, but Quinn swears he catches the man mouth _ beanstalk _ to himself as he needlessly reorganizes the kitchen and has to bite down on his warning snarl.

The last thing he needs is to alert Tabby to the fact that something isn't right.

"My boss is a hardass," he says, just for the satisfaction of seeing Noja's flat, impressed stare, "but you know I know how to take care of myself, Tabby. I'm pumping that vitamin C into my system like no one's business. I'll be just fine in a day or two."

"I know you will, Q." Tabby coos happily, and Quinn croons softly in return, raising his middle finger when Noja smiles at him through the glass and makes a heart with his hands. "Will you be home soon?" his sister adds, her voice dropping lower; going soft and sad, and uncertain in a way that rips at his fucking heartstrings in a way he knows must show on his face, if Noja's shift in expression is any indication. The bear-kin turns away, giving him back his sense of privacy by moving toward the opposite end of the house, where the fireplace and entertainment system are.

"I don't know, flower," he admits hoarsely. "This job might take us a while, since we're doin' from the foundation up. It ain't as easy as they make it look in them home reno shows. This shit takes time."

"I know," Tabby says, sniffling quietly. "You've just never had to go away for this long, and I miss you. It's not the same, here. Mother is never home, and none of her employees really talk to me much. She still wants me to meet that mogul's Alpha son, but they can't seem to make their schedules match up."

Quinn grinds his teeth so hard his molars creak, and he catches Noja looking up from the corner of his eye. "If we're lucky, they never will," he rumbles, closing his burning eyes and breathing until the bubbling anger calms and he knows his eyes aren't yellow anymore. "Talk to me about classes, flower," he coaxes, desperate for a change of topic before he starts breaking whatever he can get his hands on. "Are you still struggling in your chem class? Who was that guy you said was helping you last time?"

"His name is Travis." There's something in the way she says it that has him sitting up straighter, her voice a little breathier, a little dreamier. "He's a beta, and he's so sweet. We've met for coffee a few times and gone over notes together. He's helped me understand Professor Argen's lectures a lot more than I used to."

"Careful there, flower," Quinn warns, his tone partially playful and partially stern. He ignores Noja when the man appears in his periphery, his shoulders tense and his hackles raised. "Is this a crush I smell?"

"And if it is?" Tabby challenges without any heat in her tone. She sounds excited and thrilled and terrified all in the same breath. "Can't I like anyone at all, Q? Are you going to take that away from me, too?" She doesn't mean anything by it, he knows she doesn't, but the accusation still hits him like an arrow.

"Tabby…" Taking a deep breath, he works on relaxing his muscles one at a time until he slumps back against the support post, rubbing his face and feeling the scrape of stubble against his palm; he didn't bother shaving this morning, too excited to focus when Noja had asked if he wanted to talk to his sister.

"Of course I'm not gonna do that," he whispers, his smile tight and strained because he knows she can't see it. "You know all I want is for you to be happy, no matter what. Does he make you happy?"

"We're friends, Q, he's not my _ intended," _ Tabby groans. Then, quieter, like he knew she would if he waited her out, his baby sister admits, "I like that he sees _ me, _ Q," in a trembling whisper.

Quinn smiles, missing her so much it hurts. "Oh, flower, how could he not?" He looks up when Noja knocks lightly on the window to get his attention and scowls, growling under his breath. "I gotta go, Tabby. Time to get back to work."

"Call me soon, Quinn, okay? Please?"

"I will, Tabby." His chest hurts, so he reaches up to rub at it, staring out over the valley and seeing none of its beauty.

"I love you, beanstalk. Be safe," she says.

"For you, flower? Always."

"I mean it, Q," Tabby continues before he can hang up, her voice more serious than someone so young should be. "Your heat is scheduled for soon, isn't it? Do they have proper boarding for you, for the duration? Does your boss know what you need?"

"It's all taken care of, I promise." Being reminded of his approaching heat is the last thing he wants right now, but he can't be mad at Tabby for it; he knows she's only worried because she cares. For the past several years, they've guarded each other through their heats, and kept on top of each other about taking their blockers. His world isn't the only one that's been thrown into disarray by their mother; Tabby is suffering in her own way without him there to watch over her and protect her.

"Please, Quinn, be safe," she whispers, sounding far too much like a scared teenager and nothing like the strong young woman he's tried so hard to help her become. "I can't lose you, big brother."

"You won't, baby sister, I swear. I'll be done with this job and home before you know it, alright? Sooner, if I don't get off the phone in the next thirty seconds; Brian will have my hide if I'm late comin' back from my break." He tries his best to sound apologetic; if it were up to him, he and Tabby would be home watching shitty movies together right now, laughing and fighting over popcorn. He wouldn't be hours and a few hundred miles away, drowning under more lies than anyone should ever have to maintain.

"Be safe, Q."

"Always."

\---

"You love her very much."

Quinn cracks an eye open, watching Noja step onto the deck and curling his top lip just enough to show a hint of teeth. "She's my sister," he says, his tone implying that the bear is stupid for ever considering otherwise.

"Not all siblings are so close." The Alpha slides the door closed and leans against it, giving Quinn more than enough space to feel comfortable. He still hates having the man so close to him; he's picky about who he lets into his personal bubble, and he's yet to meet an Alpha aside from his paternal grandfather that didn't raise his hackles whenever they got within five feet. There's at least six yards between him and the bear -- the deck takes up a decent length of the side of the house -- but considering the circumstances, there could be a football field between them and Quinn would still be seeing red.

"Sucks to be them," he grunts, resting his head back against the railing and chewing distractedly at his thumbnail. The pain helps him to focus and think; his mind is far from foggy, his heat is still too far away for that, but the idea of it is enough to make him jittery and snappish.

"Your mother would like to come and see you sometime next week."

Hearing that is like taking a cinder block to the lungs. Quinn bites through his nail and swears viciously, shaking his hand and splattering droplets of blood across the dark cherry wood the deck is made out of. "Fuck _ no," _ he growls, glaring hotly at Noja from where he's sitting. It doesn't matter that the man is standing, or that he's a grizzly bear and Quinn is a coyote. It doesn't even matter that Noja is an Alpha Dom, or that he's an omega; Quinn doesn't give a shit about any of that. If Eleanor Park puts herself in front of him right now, or any time in the near future, he's going to kill her. He'll rip her throat out, and then he'll never see Tabby again.

Noja's eyebrows raise, though his expression doesn't change otherwise. "She's funding this, and she expects weekly reports."

"So send a fuckin' email," Quinn spits, licking his thumb clean to see how bad it looks. It hurts like hell, and it's going to be a pain in the ass while it heals, even with the salve, but it could have been worse. At least his teeth weren't fully shifted when he bit down.

"She wants physical, visible proof that the reconditioning is working."

"So send a goddamn video of your failures. I don't want her here." Baring his teeth, his jaws clenched so tightly his gums ache in protest, Quinn pushes himself to his feet and stalks towards the steps, keeping yards between himself and Noja in case the bear tries to grab for him. He may be fast, but Quinn is certain that he can outdistance the Alpha in an open space like this; coyotes, even their human kin, are quick and agile. Noja may have the upper hand in close quarters, but out here? There's no way he can catch Quinn.

"Is it because your heat is close, or because you'd kill her?"

Noja hasn't moved, so Quinn pauses at the top of the steps, staring down them into the sprawling yard and the beckoning comfort of the woods beyond the border of the clearing. "Armchair psychology?" he sneers, glaring over his shoulder. "Why don't you tell me, doctor?"

"Did you always hate her this much, or was it only after your father passed?"

Quinn snaps his teeth at nothing, growling angrily. "What difference does it make? I _ don't want her here." _

Taking the steps two at a time, he lopes across the yard and takes the first deer trail he sees, winding his way through the trees as quickly as he can until the house is nothing but an ominous presence in the back of his mind; the prison he knows he'll have to return to eventually. He may have his own room, a hot shower, and good food, he may even have a measure of freedom without constant supervision, but it's a prison nonetheless. The only reason Noja isn't dead yet is because the fucker locks his door at night, and his doorknobs aren't the kind that are easy to pick the lock on; if Quinn tried, he'd more than likely wake the bear, and that's the exact opposite of what he wants.

He wanders the trails until he hears the first warning beep from the transmitter telling him he's getting close to the boundary line; grinding his teeth, he backtracks a few feet and changes direction, keeping the invisible marker on his left and exploring in a way he hasn't since Noja brought him here almost a week ago. He's run through these woods several times, but it was always dark, and he wasn't trying to explore, he was trying to escape.

Rather than ruminate solely on things he cannot change, that will only make him angrier, he focuses on his conversation with Tabby, smiling at the fresh memory of her happiness. She's doing so well -- she's getting the life he's always wanted for her. The life he's pushed his body beyond the brink to give her, and never with any feeling of resentment or anger. Quinn would rip his own heart out if it meant his little sister could have everything she wanted in life. Her happiness is why he fought so hard to take her away from their mother in the first place.

He did it, too, once Tabby was eighteen and could legally, as far as the law was concerned, choose for herself. Quinn had a steady job at that point, and he had money in savings from his photography. He could give her a comfortable, happy life, and when she decided that she wanted to be a nurse, he could give her that too. He worked even harder, and when Tappik offered him a way to make even more money, while also taking his pound of flesh from the Alphas who looked down on him every goddamn day? He'd never even considered saying no. Not when it meant he could cover Tabby's tuition fees and her textbooks. Not if it meant he could give his baby sister a life and _ freedom, _ while their mother sought to take that away from both of them.

She may have caged Quinn, and caught Tabby back in her den, but she can't stop Tabby from going to school, not now. She's got Quinn's bank card, with both of their names on the account. She's got access to all of their money, and it's more than enough to keep her safe until he gets back. As far as she knows, he won't get paid until this job is done -- picky clients can be like that. He's worked jobs like that before, and they've been rough, but the money was always worth it when he thought about how it would help Tabby.

Tabitha has been his world for so long. It's been them against everyone else; them versus their mother. She could bring Tabby under control easier, because his sister isn't feral like him, but Tabby isn't her puppet. She can't be controlled that easily. If Eleanor tries to make her quit school, Tabby will fight her every step of the way.

What if she pairs Tabby with that rich Alpha prick, though? Will they listen, if Tabby doesn't accept his interest? What will their mother do if she finds out Tabby might be interested in a beta instead? He knows his sister; if she likes Travis enough to admit it to Quinn, then she really, really likes him. What will Elmar's beloved Mayor Park do when she finds out her daughter has feelings for a common beta boy? She'll be livid.

Quinn is so lost in thought, wandering without really paying attention, that he almost misses the lake entirely. It's the sunlight reflecting off its surface that catches his eye, almost blinding him when he turns to try and see what it is. He pauses for a moment, wondering if it's too far beyond the transmitter's range; he's been weaving in and out of the trees, letting his feet take him where they will, and he's not sure how far he is from the line anymore.

_ Only one way to find out. _ He walks carefully, tense and ready to move back in case he does skirt too close to the boundary; three consecutive days of trying to push past the pain and force his way across that invisible line has left an imprint that his body remembers, even if his mind fights it stubbornly. His muscles tremble, twitching and jumping like a spooked colt, and he grits his teeth.

_ Mind over matter, god damn it. _

He steps into the clearing and breathes a sigh of relief, only for his breath to catch again when he takes in the scenery up close for the first time. He whines under his breath at the beauty before him, from the gentle ripple of the lake's surface as the wind moves it to the mountains that rise in the background, all of it looking like a painting someone has lovingly poured from a canvas to feed the earth.

No, that's not quite right, is it. A human could never create something like _ this, _ only replicate it. It makes his fingers itch for his camera, tucked safely away in its bag in his and Tabby's apartment. Even though it's bitterly cold, and most of the trees are bare of any leaves, it's still so shockingly beautiful that, for a moment, he's frozen to the spot.

Across the lake, so far away he wouldn't be able to see it so clearly if his eyesight wasn't what it is, a stag raises his head as if he senses that he's not alone. He's a massive beast, with a thick ruff and heavy antlers; his dark, liquid eyes scan his surroundings until his head turns and he sees Quinn. If he makes a sound, Quinn can't hear it from so far away, but one by one, five does lift their heads as well, all of them looking at him. They don't immediately bolt like he's expecting them to, and the wind carries their scent to him, faint though it is once he smells it, so he knows they can't smell that he's a predator. Maybe that's why the stag leaves so calmly, the rest of the herd turning to follow him without once looking back. They vanish into the trees as if they'd never been there at all, leaving nothing but their fading scent in his nose and the memory of their calm, fathomless eyes.

Slowly making his way to the edge of the lake, Quinn sits himself on the sandy bank, digging the heels of his shoes into the ground and hugging his knees. It's a vulnerable position, but out here, with no one to judge or mock him for it, what does it matter how he sits?

"Tabby, you'd fuckin' love it here," he whispers, his words pluming in wisps of white that dissipate on the breeze; he's grateful to it for keeping his secrets. Here, like this, he doesn't have to pretend that his throat doesn't hurt and his lungs aren't tight; that his bones don't ache faintly, a phantom warning that's more psychosomatic than physical. It's too soon to start feeling even the symptoms of pre-heat, but he knows they're there, just around the proverbial corner, and he's dreading them more than he usually does. This time, he won't be safe at home in his den, with his omega sister to offer a soothing presence and help keep an eye on him. This time, he's far away from home, trapped in a territory ruled by a stranger, an _ Alpha Dom, _ with only his own clothing and the faint traces of Tabby's scent to keep him stable and bring him any measure of stability and comfort.

Quinn hasn't cried since his father died, and he's not about to start now, not because of something like _ this, _ but he can take a moment here, in this peaceful and serene valley, on the shore of a quiet lake that ripples and laps at the sandy dirt in chilly little waves, to shake and pretend it's because of the cold air worming its way beneath his clothes. His eyes sting, yellow and angry, his gums leaking copper, metallic blood across his tongue as his teeth sharpen and dull in steady, aching pulses. He grinds his back molars until a headache blooms, bright and unpleasant, unfurling behind his eyes like a winter flower he would love to crush beneath the heel of unbridled rage, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, Quinn has to admit to himself that he's trapped.

He's trapped, with no way out. At least, none that are feasible options. Not unless he's willing to leave Tabby truly alone, forever at the mercy of a woman who will never let his sister be who she wants to be. She'll crush Tabby's spirit and turn her into "just another breeder," and there will be no one to stop her, if Quinn isn't there.

_ Never, _ he thinks, digging his claws into his pants until they threaten to pierce skin. _ I'll never let that happen. _

_ I'll beat you at your own game, one way or another, you fuckin' cow. _

\---

It's well past dark, by the time he finds his way back to Noja's cabin -- not because he's lost, he just doesn't want to go back until he absolutely has to. He stares at it from just within the treeline, seeing the warm, welcoming light spilling from the windows and cutting patterns across the frosty grass; the curl of smoke from the chimney that promises the heat of a cracking fire. When he breathes in through his mouth, he can almost taste the charred wood along with spices he's not sure how to name. He doesn't see Noja's shadow moving around in any of the windows, but he knows the man is in there somewhere, waiting. He feels it like a prickle across his nape that he shakes off with a huff.

He takes the steps carefully, well aware of how slick and dangerous they can get once the sun has set and the frost takes over. The door is unlocked, sliding open easily beneath his cold, stiff fingers.

He's so used to the temperature outside after spending so many hours in the forest that the heat of Noja's house _ hurts. _ It smacks him in the face, burning his frozen skin as it sinks deep and starts thawing him. He's shivering before he's even taken his jacket off, knowing only a shower will help warm him up completely and intent on taking one as soon as he can.

  
  


"There's hot chocolate in the crock pot beside the toaster, if you'd like any."

He startles, his spine cracking when he stands up straight and whips around to stare at the Alpha. He's sitting on the couch, his bare feet propped on the coffee table and crossed at the ankle. He's reading, a thick book with a dark red cover and gold detailing that glints in the light. On the other side of him, the fire he's built in the fireplace cracks and pops as it greedily covers the logs he must have just added to keep it going. He's wearing those stupid, useless glasses again, peering over the rims of them because they're sitting so low on his nose.

Quinn can smell the hot chocolate when he breathes in, as well as meat and buttery mashed potatoes; there's a covered plate next to the crock pot that's still borderline too hot when he touches it. When he uncovers it, he sees the venison steak -- raw in the center, just the way he likes it. It's leaking juice that's just a little bloody, steeping in its own flavor. The potatoes are still steaming faintly, and the green beans look like they'll still have just that right amount of crunch when he bites into them.

Manners dictate that he should be grateful and say _ thank you, _ because it's been a long time since breakfast, and he didn't exactly stash any granola bars in his coat pockets to eat while he was exploring, since he stalked off so unexpectedly. What he says instead, picking up the fork and knife that have been left out for him, is,

"If your dad was an immigrant and your mom lived on a rez, how'd they get so much money?"

Noja doesn't look up from his book, and he doesn't reply right away, but Quinn knows, instinctively, that the man isn't ignoring him. He eats quickly, abandoning his silverware pretty fast in favor of tearing the steak into pieces with his fingers once he sees how tender it is. His canines sharpen, helping him to rip and chew -- an age-old instinct left over from the days when humans hunted mammoths and huddled in dark caves to hide from the predators that called them food.

By the time he's sucking the juice from his fingers, he's almost forgotten he asked anything, his entire focus on filling his belly.

"Just because you aren't born into wealth doesn't mean you can't become wealthy," Noja finally replies, seemingly still focused on whatever he's reading. "My parents had a vast myriad of knowledge and skills between them. It seemed only practical to put their knowledge to use and make something of it. From building furniture to making medicines from herbs, they sold their skills and built their fortune slowly, because they were smart about it. My mother taught me how to make the salve you've used, as well as other medicines, and my father taught me how to build what I needed with my own hands, if it was within my means."

The potatoes are just as smooth and buttery as they looked; the green beans crunch between his teeth, popping and exploding their fresh flavor across his tongue. He doesn't realize that he's letting out quiet, subvocal noises of pleasure until he looks up and sees Noja watching him with an expression that is alarmingly gentle and _ fond. _ He immediately catches himself and growls, showing his teeth, but the bear just makes an amused chuffing sound and goes back to reading.

"You've been out for hours, and it's cold outside. Once you've eaten, you should shower and warm up."

"Don't tell me what to do," Quinn snaps, taking a mug down from the cabinet over the sink and ladleing hot chocolate into it. The curls of steam smell so welcoming and comfortable; he chooses to cradle the mug in his cold hands for a minute, letting the heat soak into his palms and the open air cool the drink so that he doesn't burn his mouth or his sensitive throat. It's still hot when he does take a sip, but it's a pleasant heat, and he can already tell that the hot chocolate is homemade. It's creamy and rich, lacking the strange aftertaste he's always left with when he's drank the packet kind. There's a hint of nutmeg, enough to hit his nostrils but not overpower everything else, and something else -- a flavor he can't quite place.

"Almond extract," Noja offers, no doubt sensing his confusion and curiosity. "It's how my mother always made it."

"S'good," Quinn admits grudgingly, drinking a little more and wiggling his toes in his sneakers; they don't feel as cold as they had, which is good. He should still shower soon though, if he doesn't want to actually catch a cold. Setting his mug aside, he quickly rinses and washes his dishes, ignoring the Alpha Dom watching him patiently. He leaves the stuff in the drying rack, feeling a little rebellious, and kicks his shoes off beside the coat rack before heading toward the back hallway without a word.

"Your mother will not be coming next week," Noja says, the quiet words stopping him in his tracks in the doorway. Quinn cocks his head, listening, but doesn't turn around. "I spoke to her while you were hiking. She was not pleased, but I reminded her that she gave me full impunity where you are concerned. If she wishes for her face to remain intact, and her pride, she will accept my weekly emails, and she will stay off my territory until I invite her."

There's a threat hidden in those words, but Quinn realizes, after a moment and with a jolt of realization, that it's not aimed toward him. He looks at the back of the Alpha's head, eyes narrowed and thoughtful, but Noja doesn't turn to look at him, simply keeps reading.

"If she shows her face, I will rip her throat out," he growls. "You can muzzle me all you want, I don't need teeth to kill her."

"I believe you." Noja turns the page, rumbling deep in his chest; he sounds _ content. _ "Go, shower. Dream well, Quintus."

"Anyone ever tell you you're fuckin' _ weird?" _ Quinn asks, and shakes his head when Noja's only response is a delighted laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but it's a bit of a rollercoaster, so bear with me. Quinn is a bit all over the place in this one, the crazy coyote.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has joined me on this journey so far; we've got a ways to go yet, so... Buckle your seatbelts, friends. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.
> 
> As always, this was written and posted on my phone, and unbetaed, so every single mistake is mine.

"Travis asked me out to dinner tonight, Quinn!"

Tabby sounds so excited, so bubbly and breathless, that he can't help but be excited for her. Even though there's a part of him that feels like a dagger is being twisted through it at the thought of _ anyone _ pursuing his sister without him there to chaperone -- a practice that went out of style in the eighties, which he is very aware of, but this is _ Tabby. _ This is his baby sister, the light of his life, his north star, his little _ flower. _

"I knew it was only a matter of time," is what he says, laughing lightheartedly and hoping she doesn't hear the faint waver he's trying so hard to hide.

It's Tabby, though. She knows him just as well as he knows her -- no one knows them better than they know each other. "Is that… okay?" she asks, her enthusiasm becoming hesitancy, and Quinn would shoot himself in the foot if he could for making her sound like that.

"Of course it is, flower," he promises, trilling sweetly. "I just hate I'm not there to see you off on your very first date. I'm stuck here in Bumfuck, Shitville, surrounded by testosterone and Alpha male macho bullshit, and you know how much that aggravates the fu-uck out of me." He exaggerates the curse just to make her laugh, her blooming hope a gentle balm for the wound he's caused himself, having upset her in the first place. "Tell me all about him," he coaxes. "Come on. You've hardly told me anything at all. What's he look like? What's his major? Tell me _ everything." _

Noja looks up from the island, where he's been busying himself making bread from scratch. Quinn is curled up on the chair he's privately come to think of as his, and he gives the man a warning glare when he sees the amusement written across his face. They've reached an uneasy truce in the last few days -- mainly, Quinn has stopped trying to run away, though he spends most of the day exploring the woods, and Noja doesn't mention his mother or his approaching heat at all. When he'd offered his phone and said Quinn was welcome to call his sister this morning after breakfast, Quinn has been quick to grab it and make for his chair, just in case the Alpha changed his mind.

"He's a chemistry major, but he's minoring in nursing, which is how we ended up sharing a few labs," Tabby is saying, and Quinn realizes that he's missed a chunk of the conversation during his silent stare-down with Noja. The bear seems to know it, tilting his head before focusing on his task again. Baring his teeth at him in annoyance, Quinn curls into a more comfortable position on the squashy, overstuffed armchair and listens attentively as Tabby gushes about her Potential.

"What'd you say his last name was, again?" he asks, trying to remember if his sister had mentioned one at all.

"I didn't," Tabby says, stumbling over her words from how fast she's talking; she must be that excited that he's interested. Either that, or she's trying to tell him everything before their mother calls for her, if she's home. "His last name is Tappuk. Travis Tappuk. He says a lot of his friends couldn't pronounce it right when they were young, so everyone always called him Tappik, and it kind of became a nickname for him. I like Travis better though."

In an instant, Quinn's vision goes red as rage roars to life in his chest.

_ You son of a _ ** _bitch._ **

"Ah, shit, Tabby, boss just flagged me down," he says, his voice the right amount of apologetic and annoyed to fool her while he wrestles with the anger rising in his throat. Noja has stopped kneading his dough, bronze spreading to his iris in response to Quinn's fury, but the bear hasn't moved yet. "I'll call you back as soon as I can, okay? You can tell me more about your Potential then, and how your date goes. I want to hear every single detail!"

"You know I will, Q. I love you, beanstalk. Be safe!"

"Always for you, flower."

Quinn hangs up probably a little too quickly, nearly crushing the phone in his hand. "I need to make another phone call," he grinds past clenched teeth, his yellow eyes daring Noja to tell him no. The Alpha Dom stares back unblinkingly, veins of bronze bleeding out into his sclera as the heavy, potent scent of Quinn's rage fills the room. The bear-kin never once matches it with his own pheromones, or tries to suppress Quinn's scent with his own. He just watches, nodding once; a quick, tight jerk of his head, his thick fingers flexing across the mound of bread dough before he steps away from it.

Quinn doesn't bother watching to see what he does next; he looks at the phone, realizing that he's cracked the screen and thankful it still works despite how hard he squeezed it. He dials Tappik's number from memory, his canines digging into his lips as he listens to it ring and waits.

"Travis Tappuk, how can I help you?"

"I'm gonna gut you like a goddamn pig when I get my hands on you, Tappik," Quinn snarls.

"Quinn?" The beta sounds startled, appropriately caught off-guard and wary. "Shit, man, word on the street was they sent you out for reconditioning. Fuck, are you alright? Where are you?"

"Don't act like you give a shit," he snaps, hunching over in his chair and pulling his legs up under him until he's crouched and ready to leap at nothing, balanced on the balls of his feet and his fingertips; his claws digging into the leather beneath him in a way he knows will leave marks he doesn't care about, not right now.

"What the fuck, dude, what's wrong with you?" Tappik sounds less confused and more aggravated, but the wariness is still there, and Quinn wishes the hound was in front of him so he could smell his apprehension. Betas can't regulate their scent as well as Alphas and omegas; he can only hide so much from Quinn, and he wants to _ smell _ the fucking dog's terror as he rips him apart.

"Tabby," Quinn growls, his sister's name a judge's gavel slammed down to expound Tappik's guilt in crystal clarity, and he can hear the _ exact _ moment realization hits in the way the beta's breath hitches.

"Shit, fuck, Quinn, I didn't know."

"Bullshit, you didn't know." There's no names in the underground, no histories -- he and Travis met above, when the dog-kin ran across him beating the shit out of a group of cocky Alphas that thought they could overpower him just because he was an omega. The coonhound had already been running fights by then, making himself a decent amount of money and earning a reputation in the underground as one hell of a ringmaster.

_ You're a damn mongrel, _ he'd said, laughing and clapping Quinn on the back. _ You'd make a killing in the ring. Come on, no one fights like you do for no reason. Give it a try. _

He'd told Tappik after his first fight, after they'd had to drag the unconscious body of the beta wolf out of the ring before Quinn killed him. It had hardly been a challenge, and the room had been deadly quiet, the onlookers that had jeered at the sight of him shocked silent by the omega they'd scorned. After the fights, after he'd won again and _ again, _ he'd pulled Tappik aside and said that yeah. Yeah, he wanted in.

_ My mother's a real piece of work. I gotta get the fuck away from her, man. Got a little sister, real young. Gotta get her out, too. _

_ Keep fightin' like that, _ Tappik had said, sliding him a thick bundle of cash, _ and it won't take you long at all. _

He hadn't lied.

"Quinn," Tappik -- Travis -- whispers. "Quinn, brother, I swear I didn't realize she was _ your _ sister."

"Scent doesn't _ lie, _ Taps," Quinn roars, slamming his fist against the arm of the chair and hearing the wood splinter.

"Man, you know scent's always been my weakest sense!" the dog-kin whines mournfully. "Hearing and sight are my best, but my nose don't help me for shit! I knew you had a sister, but you know there's no names in the underground, man. I swear. I'll swear on whatever you want me to swear on, Quinn. I didn't know she was your sister. I never would have approached her without askin' you first, and I swear, I _ swear, _ I ain't done anything but hold her hand."

Quinn is breathing like an enraged bull, his nostrils flaring as he snorts and growls from deep in his chest, his ear starting to ache from how hard he's pressing the phone against it. "I know you haven't," he says, his words a shredded, jumbled mess he spits past serrated teeth. "If you had tried anything, I would know, and you'd already be dead."

"Quinn, please, I-"

Quinn doesn't want to hear anymore. He turns and hurls the phone into the fireplace, watching it shatter from the force against the back wall of the chimney. The pieces fall amongst the cold, charred logs from the night before, catching what little light they can but reflecting nothing. He stares at them for a moment, breathing heavily, and then spins and runs across the open room toward the sliding doors.

Big, broad hands catch him just before he reaches them, strong but not restrictive. "Quinn, not today," Noja says quietly, and he meets the bear's bronze eyes through their reflections in the glass, blind to the snowstorm raging outside.

"Getcher fuckin' hands off me, Domknot," he snarls, prying them off himself and ignoring the scent of blood that blooms when his claws bite too deep. The man doesn't yell, doesn't roar or scream or Order him to stay inside. He only sighs quietly.

"It's too dangerous to go into the woods today, Quintus. You need to stay inside."

"Fuck off," Quinn snaps, furious and, even deeper than that, hurting somewhere in the center of his chest, a raw space that's empty and aching that he doesn't understand or know how to name. It burns and stings at the corners of his eyes, turning his saliva sour and his scent bitter. His blood pumps hotly through his veins, the need to _ destroy _ still throbbing in his palms.

Dragging the door open, he steps outside, his bare foot immediately sinking into five inches of wet, dense snow. He doesn't feel the bitter coldness, too focused on the treeline, and when Noja grabs for him again, something in him _ snaps. _

Howling, Quinn turns and grabs the bear by his forearms, dragging him out onto the deck as well. None of his opponents in the ring were ever anywhere close to the bear's size and bulk, but right now, Quinn doesn't care. He just wants to hurt something, _ badly, _ and if Noja wants to offer himself up on a silver platter, then so be it.

Using his not-inconsiderate strength, he heaves and, with a snarl, manages to send the Alpha Dom tumbling down the stairs, the snow's heaviness providing a compact, skid-resistant surface for him to brace himself against for a moment. Noja hits the ground, grunting when his head knocks against the railing. He pushes himself up into a crouch, meeting Quinn's fiery stare, and bares his teeth.

When Noja roars, it echoes across the yard and shakes snow from the trees. It's deep, and primal, and enough to make Quinn pause for a moment -- but only a moment. The bear's top canines drop past his bottom lip; his lower pair aren't as long, but even from the top of the stairs, Quinn can tell that they're thicker. If Noja catches him with those teeth, he'll do immeasurable damage. He could even kill Quinn, depending on where he bites him.

Leaping from the top step, Quinn collides with Noja at the bottom, sending him sprawling back into the snow. It sprays outward around them like cold, wet waves that slowly become more brown as they writhe and churn up the ground. Noja outweighs him by well over a hundred pounds, and has nearly a foot on him in height; in close quarters, he's dangerous, but Quinn is too blinded by rage to care about strategy right now -- he just wants to make the Alpha Dom _ bleed. _ He lands a vicious bite to the underside of the man's bicep, tearing through the flimsy material of his shirt and snarling like a rabid beast when his fangs find fragile flesh. Once they're in, he bites deep and twists his head, relishing the bear's pained, furious roar. A massive hand-paw swings around and cuffs him, making him see stars, and his jaws relax enough for Noja to drag him away and throw him clear across the yard.

Quinn hits a tree, yelping in pain and going down hard in the bank that's built up around the snow-laden boughs of the evergreen. More snow clumps down on top of him, soaking through his thin shirt and dragging his sweatpants down as they become wet. He's freezing, but too feral to care, digging his way free and just barely ducking out of the way of another blow from Noja's hand when the man suddenly looms out of the storm.

Rolling out of the way, Quinn spins and catches the bear around the ankle, dragging him down and clawing bloody gouges up his calf. Noja bellows in pain, eyes blazing, and grabs one of his wrists before he can scramble away. There's a sickening crack, and his stomach lurches; Quinn howls in agony, clawing at Noja's hand, but the bear only yanks him closer by his broken wrist, standing and pulling Quinn up with him until his toes barely brush the top layer of snow. He can barely hear himself over the roaring in his ears, blood running down his arm from Noja's hand that the Alpha Dom doesn't even seem aware of. He's just staring at Quinn, his eyes unwavering, his mouth open to accommodate his fangs; his breaths gasp white and disappear in the swirling, whipping snow.

Quinn wraps his legs around the man's waist, desperate to alleviate some of the pressure, and therefore the pain, but Noja squeezes mercilessly, grinding the broken bones against one another, and Quinn isn't sure whether or not he screams before he blacks out.

\---

He wakes up warm and dry, wrapped in blankets and tucked in bed. He can feel pillows supporting him on either side to keep him from rolling, and the blanket that's tucked up under his chin and around his shoulders is one of his favorites -- thick, dark brown mink faux fur on one side, with plush sherpa on the other. He nuzzles against it with a quiet groan, feeling the fibers tickle his nose and cheek softly. His entire body feels like one massive bruise, with a few points of sharper pain and discomfort, but on a whole, he doesn't feel as rough as he was expecting to.

"At least this time, there's no need for a diet limitation." Noja's voice comes from the right side of his bed, near his hip. Cracking an eye open, Quinn glares at him tiredly, taking in the visible damage he's done to the bear. There's a dark, angry-looking bruise spreading across his temple, ringing a swollen, bandaged cut that he must have gotten when his head connected with the railing post. There's a scrape across his cheek, and another one down his throat; a few purpling marks along his collarbone that run parallel to the low collar of his tank top, and a band of shockingly white gauze wrapped around the arm Quinn bit. There's more damage under his clothes, no doubt, not that Quinn can see any of it, but he knows where some of the wounds are.

"You broke my wrist," he grunts.

"And fractured your left collarbone, and bruised your left shoulder," Noja says, closing the book he'd been reading and setting it on the nightstand. "You threw me down the stairs, which was very impressive, by the way, all things considered. You also did your own fair share of damage to my person. I would argue that makes us even."

"You're very calm, for someone who was assaulted in his own house." His right wrist is splinted carefully, the sharp scent of herbs mixing with the cool, familiar tingle of the salve he used on his throat. It aches when he wiggles and curls his fingers, and he sighs roughly.

"To get angry at you now would be pointless," the bear replies calmly, reaching out to fix the blankets; his shuffling has made them come partially untucked from beneath the pillow wall. Quinn jerks away, growling in warning, and Noja pauses, large hands hovering over his leg.

"To get angry would suggest I was surprised by your attack," he continues after a tense moment, meeting Quinn's eyes. He can't read the Alpha's expression; those whiskey eyes swirl with things he doesn't know how to name, the bronze pupils that mark him as different almost blending in with the irises. Another moment passes, the air charged like storm clouds, heavy with the threat of lightning strikes, until Quinn barks angrily and looks away. He glares at the ceiling instead, curling his uninjured wrist against his side and digging at the blankets there. 

"So, what, you knew I was gonna go for your face?" he says mockingly.

"As soon as you went toward the door, yes." Noja tucks the blankets back into place, making sure they aren't wrinkled or bunched; Quinn tries not to jerk at the feel of the man's fingers effectively _ petting _ the side of his leg through several layers of covers. "I knew that stopping you from leaving meant your anger would be directed toward me, but it was a risk I was willing to accept. Had I let you run off into the storm as you were, you would not have survived."

"And you can't have a client's property die. That'd look bad on your resume," Quinn spits bitterly, using his left hand to brace himself as he tries to sit up. Both his collarbone and his shoulder throb, waves of pain making nausea churn in his stomach. He's pale and shaking by the time he's leaning back against the headboard, but when Noja reaches out again, he snarls and swipes at the closest hand, not even caring that it jarrs his broken wrist.

Quinn hasn't spent the last few years in the underground without his fair share of bumps and bruises; he's gone up against opponents bigger than him before. No one like Noja, there was never anyone even close to his size and strength, but he's had plenty of mismatched fights. He's come home with more than one broken arm, or broken ribs; a bruised breastbone, a broken leg, _ whatever. _ It sucked, but he never let it slow him down before, and he sure as hell isn't about to start now.

"I didn't stop you because of your mother, Quinn," the Alpha says quietly, rearranging the pillows now that he's in a different position. "She had nothing to do with it. You were angry, and not thinking clearly. Without shoes or a coat, you wouldn't have survived long. If I had to bear the brunt of you rage, it's fine; pardon the expression." He smiles without any trace of humor, and Quinn frowns, trying to find the deception, the manipulation -- his mother has always been a master at twisting others to her whims with just her words.

"It's a small price to pay, in my opinion," Noja continues, standing and picking up his book. "Bodies recover, when given time. My injuries will heal. But I cannot revive someone if they freeze to death in the middle of a blizzard because rage has made them blind to danger." This smile is a little warmer, a little teasing, and Quinn bares his teeth in response, but they're blunt.

"Blame the heat," he grumbles, gesturing at nothing in particular. "It always does this. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm an angry person to begin with. The added hormones and other bullshit just give me a shorter fuse."

"When it was already so long to begin with," the Alpha Dom retorts, his voice as dry as the desert. His eyes twinkle with amusement.

"Ha fuckin' ha, assho- wait a minute. Did you _ bathe _ me? What the fuck." Flipping the blankets back, he stares down at his pyjamas and clean skin. His reaction is admittedly delayed, because of course Noja cleaned him up. They were both covered in mud and blood, last he remembered. Come spring, that chunk of the yard is going to have a hell of a time recovering, after what they did to it.

"Would you rather have woken up having become one with your sheets?" Noja leans against the door frame, arching an eyebrow at him. "Don't worry," he adds, clearly able to see the explosion building beneath Quinn's skin at the _ audacity. _ "All I did was wipe down you down with a warm cloth; I never took your boxers off. They were damp, but not saturated, thankfully, so they dried quickly. I recognize that I am still a stranger to you, Quinn, and that you do not trust me, but trust my scent. Trust my heartbeat. They will betray any lie my mouth tells, you know they will."

And that's the thing of it -- Noja is telling the truth. People like them, whether trained or self-taught, can either lock down their pheromones so no one can get a read on them -- at least, Quinn can; Noja doesn't have that luxury, being an Alpha Dom -- or overpower a room with them, but they can never manipulate their scent to hide something. Even blockers only dull what's already there, and adds a foreign, chemical scent to a person's natural pheromones.

As much as Quinn hates to admit it, even to himself, he can't call Noja a liar, not for this. That doesn't mean he has to like it; he _ detests _ the idea of anyone, especially an _ Alpha, _ doing anything to him while he's unconscious. No matter how innocent the action, or how helpful the person is trying to be, that's a level of vulnerability that no one should ever be privy to, where he's concerned. Even Tabby has never seen him at his worst, after a really bad fight -- those nights he'd stuff a shirt in his mouth to gag himself and muffle the screams while he set a broken bone, or come home with a towel pressed to some part of his body under his clothes to keep him from dripping blood in telling trails across the apartment.

Noja has seen a side of Quinn literally no one else ever has, and he doesn't like it. And what's more, this isn't the first time the man has tended to his unconscious body -- it's just the first time he's had to clean Quinn up after the violence of his feral nature overtook logic and reason, and not just because of his own stubbornness. It's a level of intimacy he is wholly unfamiliar with, because no one but Tabby has ever seen the raw, ragged edges of him; no one that's stayed, at least.

"Why go to these lengths?" he asks, his voice tight and rough. The words are raw from being scraped from his throat and forced past his teeth before self-preservation snaps them behind impenetrable walls and trap them in safety forever.

"Why wouldn't I?" Noja asks in return, looking at him with that expression again, the one Quinn doesn't know how to name. "You are more than a piece of property, Quinn," he says, quiet and _ serious. _ "No matter your rank, you're still a _ person." _

"Then why agree to do this?" This time, Quinn gestures angrily, his hand sweeping to encompass the room, the cabin, and then coming back to touch the collar and the damnable little transmitter box. "Why agree to any of it, if not for her benefit?"

"Who says it's for her benefit?" Pushing himself away from the doorframe, Noja stretches until something in his back cracks loudly enough for Quinn to hear it. "How does grilled chicken sandwiches sound? The bread didn't turn out too badly, if I do say so myself."

"You ever gonna stop being cryptic as fuck?" Quinn growls, kicking his covers back the rest of the way and standing carefully, well aware of how easily his body can betray him after a particularly rough fight.

"You ever gonna stop running from the stuff you don't want to face?" Noja counters without an ounce of judgement or scorn, and Quinn doesn't have a response to that other than raising both middle fingers and glaring.

"The hell are you reading, anyway?" That's the same book Noja has been reading for days -- thick, leatherbound with a dark, wine red cover and gold detailing.

Noja looks at the book like he's forgotten he was holding it. _ " _ _ The Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle _ _ " _ he replies, turning the book to Quinn can finally see the cover unobstructed. "My father used to read me all the stories of Sherlock Holmes when I was younger. They were my favorite bedtime stories. Particularly _ The Hound of the Baskervilles. _ I used to dream of growing up and being a detective when I was a cub, just like Holmes." He smiles fondly at the memory, his warm whiskey eyes glimmering when they meet Quinn's. "It was a ridiculous dream, but it was fun."

"Detective, Reconditioner; not really that far apart, are they?" He means for it to come out scathing, but doesn't quite get there.

"I suppose that depends on who you ask. Did you plan to grow up and savage Alphas in underground rings?"

If anyone else asked him that, their voices would be filled with contempt. Noja merely sounds curious. "Oh, yeah," Quinn sneers, curling his lip and shouldering past the man. "Every day. Made my daddy so proud of me."

"I'm sure he would have been proud of both of you, no matter what you chose to do with your lives," Noja says quietly as he walks away. Quinn can't fucking stand it, the words hitting him like barbs that hook deep beneath his skin and tear.

"Shut the fuck up. You don't fuckin' know _ anything _ about what he wanted. Don't pretend like you do. It's pathetic."

Quinn stalks toward his chair, noticing the small holes he'd put in the leather with his claws as he curls up and presses his face into the headrest. Peeking around the side, he glances toward the fireplace, but it's been cleaned out; even the ashes are gone.

"Proud of me, my ass," he mutters, doing his best to ignore the sound of Noja moving around in the kitchen.

Of all the things their father wanted for them, this never even made the list. No, if Arthur Park were alive today, and he found out what, exactly, Quinn had chosen to do with his life, he'd be devastated.

That raw, empty place deep in his chest aches harshly, so Quinn closes his eyes and focuses on breathing until he can't hear anything but a steady, rhythmic thumping that beats in his ears like a slow, mesmerising drum.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting since the last chapter. I am plagued by frequent and somewhat debilitating migraines, and when the weather gets bad, my entire body rebels.
> 
> I present to you, Quinn in heat. He's goddamn mess to write like this, because hormones fuck with him so badly. I hope it makes sense to all of you who are following these boys. Thank you so, so much for the comments and kudos and the enthusiasm with which many of you are devouring this story. I'm sorry I cannot update it faster. ;0;
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

_ He's being carried in strong arms, tucked against a broad chest. The scent of spice and pine fills his nose, musky and familiar in a way he isn't entirely sure how to place. It's comforting, tickling at something in his instincts, but the idea of letting _ anyone _ carry him while he curls himself into their warmth, docile and trusting them to keep him safe, is so laughable that he knows he has to be dreaming. _

_ The arms keeping him close tighten, as if sensing his thoughts and agreeing. Quinn isn't feral or violent in his dreams, where the world is thick and warm and safe, and such brutal things aren't needed. Even if he tells his limbs to struggle, to put up at least a token resistance, it won't matter, so why fight it? No one can see him in his own mind, so there's no reason to be defensive; he cuddles closer instead, tucking his head beneath a strong jaw and yawning. _

_ "Sleeping in chairs is bad for healing bodies, _ chispa," _ a voice reprimands him gently. It's deep, and as familiar as the scent, but he can't place it, reality distorted and skewed in this dream state until nothing is familiar but everything is _ safe. _ He can't even bring himself to open his eyes, so he simply huffs in reply. _

_ "S'comfortable." _

_ "Not nearly as comfortable as your nest, I'd imagine." _

_ As if on cue, he feels himself being lowered onto his bed, his pillows and blankets somehow magically rearranged into exactly what he wants. It's better than reality could ever be, and he burrows deeper into his nest with a pleased whine, the tension he carries constantly slipping away like water through the cracks. He didn't realize how much his body ached until his bed eases his hurts, wrapping him up in comfort that doesn't chase the ache entirely from his bones, but it also helps it to feel like it isn't so bad. _

_ "You are far more agreeable when you're half asleep." The voice sounds amused. _

_ "S'cause it's just a dream, so who cares?" Rubbing his cheek against the closest pillow, he breathes in and trills, sweet and pleased, when he smells his own pheromones as well as the pungent, spicy scent mingling in the air. _

_ Fingers cover his forehead, firm and careful, and they feel better than any touch ever could while he's awake. Before he can try to find the words to explain that, they're gone; he whines and tries to follow them, tries to bring them back, but a hand touches his shoulder and slowly pushes him back down. _

_ "It's alright. You need to rest, though. I'll go so that you can." _

_ "No, don't," he whines, reaching up to grab at the strong forearm. He feels dizzy and almost too-warm, heat creeping up his chest that he hadn't noticed before. It's not an unpleasant feeling, so long as he's touching the person leaning over him. When they pull away again, firmer this time, he doesn't like the way his stomach lurches. _

_ "Wait, no-" _

_ "I need to go, Quinn. Sleep. There will be food and Gatorade when you wake up, and water. I'll check on you soon. _ ** _Sleep_ ** _ . You're going to need it." _

_ "Don't go!" he tries to sit up, tries to open his eyes, but it feels like there's a boulder on his chest, keeping him pinned and making him gasp for breath. The air doesn't taste good anymore, ashy on his tongue and sour against the back of his throat. His shoulder hurts, an angry throb that makes him whimper; when he tries to rub it, his wrist screams in pain and he yelps. _

_ No one comforts him. _

_ "I don't like this dream," he whispers, opening his eyes and seeing nothing but darkness stretching out in every direction, with no end in sight. "Come back," he calls, his voice high and frantic. "Come back! Where did you go? Don't leave me!" _

_ Suddenly, the world around him explodes with light and sound -- people yelling, machines beeping shrilly, and a child sobbing hysterically, his voice bouncing around the inside of Quinn's head; reverberating misery like church bells that strike him at his core, ripping away a part of him when the child howls, begging through his tears- _

** _Daddy, don't leave me!_ **

Quinn surges upright with a gasp, choking on his own saliva and scrambling to kick the covers off his sweaty body. His stomach roils, convulsing in a way he's all too familiar with, and he nearly trips over his own feet in his rush to make it to the bathroom.

His knees hit the cold tile just in time, the first wave of nausea cresting with a vengeance, and Quinn throws up everything he ate for supper, gagging at the taste and triggering another surge that climbs up his throat; it's an unpleasant sensation, though not nearly as unpleasant as having to double over the toilet bowl, throwing up everything but his memories of the dream -- which he's starting to realize wasn't entirely a dream at all.

"Son of a _ bitch," _ he moans, panting weakly against the rim of the toilet seat as his stomach churns and froths like a raging sea, barely settled despite him emptying it of the food that had offended it so grievously in the first place. He can feel it more now that he's awake; at some point, he slipped from barely conscious to fully asleep, and the heat that's slowly been getting closer as the days passed has finally settled into place in his sore, protesting bones.

Quinn is one of millions of omegas who takes blockers so that he won't have heat cycles like omegas who choose to risk their daily lives without them. Rather than going into heat every month for a few days, the blockers push that back to twice a year, for a little over a week.

For Quinn, there is no gentle slip from pre-heat symptoms into full blown heat -- it hits him with the force of a freight train, ravaging his body and his mind for ten days like a goddamn hurricane of need and desperation that drowns him in hormones and self-hatred. And then, just as suddenly, it's gone, and he gets to cobble himself back together into something vaguely human-shaped, disinfect his entire room to get rid of the fucking _ smell, _ and move on with his life without having to worry about it until the next time his heat hits.

He's not in his own den this time though. He's trapped in Noja's den in the middle of fucking nowhere, and the bear's scent is still clinging to his shirt despite the sweat that's plastered it to his chest and back. He can feel slick dripping between his thighs and shudders in revulsion, gagging up a little more bile before it's safe enough to sit back on his haunches.

"Fuck," he groans, struggling to pull his shirt off and shuddering again as it sticks and drags across his hypersensitive skin. All of his nipples are hard, even the pseudo teats; his collarbone and shoulder are an absolute mess of purpleblackyellowgreen bruises, and his splinted wrist pulses pain up to his elbow. By the time his shirt hits the floor, he's panting harshly, his heart pounding. Sweat drips down his throat and makes his palms clammy; he feels like the fever is going to burn him alive.

The only thing worse than that is the _ need. _ It's sharp and hungry, an empty ache low in his belly that makes him whine and paw at his stomach. He grazes one of the pseudo teats completely by accident, the areola stiff and swollen thanks to his heat. Any other time, the nipples have hardly any feeling, staying hidden and perfectly innocuous under his shirts. During heat, though, they become almost as sensitive as his main pair, sending bolts of pleasure-pain through his belly. His muscles clench and tremble, the sweet-musk stench of his slick filling the small room.

"No," he groans, clenching his teeth and grabbing for the edge of the sink; uses that to haul himself to his feet, the world spinning with nausea and revulsion at how weak and pathetic he becomes like this. Leaning against the vanity, he slaps a hand at the mirror, his claws scratching the reflective surface and leaving thin lines through the streaks of sweat his palm leaves behind. He'd tear the entire medicine cabinet off the wall if he had the strength; maybe, in a day or two, he will. For now, caught in the first debilitating wave, it's all he can do to keep his knees from giving out as he creeps toward the clawfoot tub.

Quinn doesn't bother with the hot water -- it won't do anything but exacerbate his fever. He turns the cold on, immediately ducking under the heavy spray of the shower and letting his weakness get the better of him for the moment. He curls himself into a ball in the tub, resting his head on the edge and closing his eyes. The water chills his skin, prickling at his fever like determined little icicles. It's a shock, sudden and unpleasant, but he grits his teeth and deals with it.

Reaching down between his legs, he hooks two fingers back and presses them inside himself, slipping easily past his relaxed, spasming ring and biting his tongue. He's hot and slick inside, as wet and loose as a whore, and the pleasure hits him like a lightning bolt before he even finds his prostate. Pressing his jaw harder against the edge of the tub, he pants through his nose, humiliated tears dripping free when he squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

It doesn't take long, his body more than ready to succumb to instinct and desire, but he finds no pleasure in his orgasm. It _ hurts, _ his internal muscles clutching for more than he's willing to give them, and once it's over, he feels even less satisfied than before. Cracking an eye open, he glares at his release as it runs off his stomach and down the drain, the evidence washed away by the icy water.

Forcing himself to stand, he hangs onto the handle bar mounted on the wall, snarling at his body's failings when he struggles to step back out of the tub and onto the mat. He almost falls when his foot catches against the edge of the bath, stumbling and grabbing for the closest thing to brace himself.

It's not this bad for others, he knows that; for those brave and foolish omegas who let their heat come naturally. Omegas that subject themselves to blockers have a harder time during their heats as their biology rages against them with a vengeance, and Quinn's symptoms are always rougher because he fights them so hard. In a day or two, his strength will come back, and he'll feel mostly human, but for the first two days, his violently ill, and the fever skyrockets.

Dripping water everywhere, he stumbles back into his room, staring at the pitcher of ice water on a table just inside the door; neither of those were there when he fell asleep, though to be fair, he fell asleep on his chair in the living room. He was _ carried _ to bed, like some fucking damsel in a romance novel, and he hates that he was that defenseless. He hates the thought that anyone, much less an _ Alpha, _ can do something that easily when he's vulnerable and in heat, and Quinn won't stop them.

If Noja had tried that at any other point, Quinn would have woken up and shredded him. Instead, he'd clung to the bear like some weak, sniveling creature, and he _ hates _ that. As he watches condensation roll down the side of the glass, he thinks about how satisfying it would feel to flip the whole table; to tear his room apart, break the windows, and _ rage. _

Instead, he drinks the water almost too fast, spilling it down his chin and chest, but he can't stop. When the glass is empty, he fills it again, his hands shaking to the point that he spills water across the table and onto the floor, but fuck it. The water tastes better than usual, quenching his thirst and cooling the fire beneath his belly, tucked in the cradle of his hips where his womb throbs.

He wants to soothe the ache. He _ needs _ to soothe it; needs an Alpha to mount and knot him, to fill him again and again, keeping him caught on their knot until the ache is gone and his belly swells, his body heavy with their cubs--

"Fuck!"

Dropping the glass back onto the table, Quinn kicks the whole thing into the wall and nearly loses his balance because of it, his vision going blurry when he moves too fast. He stumbles back toward the bed, falling across it and immediately rubbing himself against his blankets. Who cares that he's still wet and his hair is soaked; he scents everything until it smells like him exclusively, the blankets pulled and dragged and kneaded until he has a proper soft, thick nest. 

Rolling onto his belly, he pins his cock against the blankets beneath him, rutting desperately until he comes with a broken, devastated keen. The friction is almost too painful, but his body doesn't care, chasing the pleasure in a desperate, age-old hunt. His back arches, his legs spreading to present his slick, ready hole; if he had a tail, it would be curled up out of the way. He claws at the blankets and bites the pillows, tasting cotton and polyester and hot, shameful tears.

Quinn curves his spine through sheer force of will, dropping his ass and tucking it protectively against his calves to hide it from invisible eyes. The fever is already climbing again, cooled water turning to sweat that mats his hair down and makes the nest damp with more than just cum.

Sobbing, he grinds his forehead into the mess he's made of his pillow, shaking his head and frantically begging _ no _over and over again, as if that alone will be enough to stop what's coming.

It won't, it never is, but he still begs until his voice is gone, refusing to touch himself again despite every nerve crying out for relief and the hopeful, painful, _ hateful _ twitching from deep inside of him.

\---

True to his word, Noja comes to visit him the next morning, knocking to announce his presence before he enters the room.

"Quinn? How are you feeling?"

Quinn snarls in response, hunkered down in his nest and glaring over the edge. Noja is dressed like he's been outside, clumps of snow still clinging to his jeans. The muzzle he'd promised to wear is locked in place, making him look wild and dangerous despite the concern shining in his whiskey eyes.

_ Suitable, _ his instincts trill, interested and eager. _ Strong. A provider. He'll sire good cubs. _

"Get the fuck out," Quinn rasps, digging his claws into the bedding and squeezing until his hands hurt, because he refuses to touch himself in front of Noja. He will not debase himself further by acting like a wanton slut, writhing and moaning with no control. Especially not in front of the bear-kin.

"Are you hungry?" Noja continues, as if he hadn't heard Quinn's weak demand. "You haven't eaten yet; I have soft protein chews, or I can make you something fresh if you'd prefer that."

"Get _ out," _ Quinn hisses, coiling himself up tight to protect all his bare, oversensitive places. His cock is leaking to an embarrassing degree, twitching and pulsing each time Noja's low, deep voice brushes against his senses like a physical caress. Even worse than that, fresh slick drips between his thighs, his scent ripe and _ ready; _ a siren's call to lure in any Alpha for him to choose their worth, or defend himself against until they overpower him.

"I'll make you something," the man decides. "You can accept or reject it as you see fit, but please try to eat at least a little bit. Even just a bite. You need to keep your strength up." He reaches behind him for the door, hesitating in such an uncharacteristic way that Quinn narrows his eyes.

"There's a few toys in the bottom drawer of the nightstand," Noja offers, looking uncomfortable and _ shy. _ "They might help. I didn't have time to tell you before, because. Well." He gestures at his face and the muzzle, the thick silver mesh looking somehow _ wrong. _ Despite being exposed to Quinn's pheromones, he hasn't reacted at all, but he still muzzled himself -- for _ Quinn's _ comfort. Isn't that what he'd said on the first day?

"Get out," Quinn rumbles, exhausted and angry, and this time, Noja leaves. He closes the door quietly, leaving Quinn to bury his face into blankets saturated with his own scent and fluids. His moan is muffled, his back arching as another orgasm pulses through him. He's so fucking _ tired, _ but his body refuses to let him rest while it's still so unsatisfied, his slick, cramping fingers not even remotely close to what it craves.

_ Toys, huh. _ He curls his hand around his cock, the pain in his shoulder almost an afterthought beneath the waves of pleasure and instinct. His right hand is useless thanks to the splint, and part of him knows he has to be careful of his left shoulder and collarbone. If he's not, he'll damage them even further by the end of his heat, and he'd rather avoid that shame.

The rest of him overpowers the hesitation, desperate to soothe the empty, painful ache inside of him.

Stroking himself, he sits back on his calves, grinding his ass down against them and biting his lip until he tastes blood. The weakness is slowly being burned out by the _ hunger, _ and if he doesn't find actual relief soon, it's only going to get worse.

Cum splatters over the side of the bed and hits the floor, the orgasm barely a flicker of satisfaction beneath the loathing. Wrapping his arm around himself, he curls over, baring his clenched teeth and trembling. He's so tired; he hasn't slept at all since his shower. He hasn't even gone to the bathroom despite the pitcher of water he drank; he's sweat it all out, or cum it out, or it's helped hydrate the slick he's smeared all over his sheets. He feels _ disgusting, _ he _ is _ disgusting, and he's barely a day into this hell.

At least the hallucinations haven't started yet. At least it hasn't poisoned his dreams. He knows it will, though. As the heat progresses and he continues to deny his body and instincts, it's only going to get worse.

Noja knocks on the door again, opening it after a moment. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Quinn," he says softly. Quinn hears the wet clatter of ice in water as the bear sets down a new pitcher; the clink of a plate against wood. He smells meat and freshly cut fruit, and his stomach cramps from a combination of hunger and nausea.

"It's not your fuckin' body," he grits out, raising his head enough to glare at Noja through the damp, tangled mess of his bangs. His curls are even more out of control than usual, between not being combed after the shower and his own thrashing in his nest. "Don't fuckin' tell me what I should or shouldn't feel about it. You ain't the one dealin' with this bullshit right now."

"No, I'm not," Noja agrees, already stepping out of the room again and shutting the door. "My ruts aren't as bad, but that might be because I don't fight them as hard as I see you fighting this," he says through the barrier separating them. "There's no shame in enjoying your biology, Quinn. There's no shame in any of this."

"Fuck off," Quinn growls at the closed door, his words ragged and fracturing into a moan when his body betrays him yet again, weak dribbles of cum oozing down the sides of his cock. He can still smell Noja, strong and musky and tightly controlled, and his instincts _ like _ that, a rumble building in his chest when he looks toward the food and water and sees how the bear has _ provided _ for him.

_ Just like a mate should. _

Knocking his head against the headboard, Quinn snarls at himself, furious for ever having such a thought. It's not his rational mind, he knows that much, but that doesn't make it better.

Dragging himself out of bed, he stumbles toward the pitcher, his hand steadier this time as he pours himself a glass. It's crisp and cold, cooling his mouth and tasting better than water ever has before as he gulps it down.

The plate is piled high with strips of steaming, tender meat and scrambled eggs. There are a few soft protein bars next to it, still in their wrappers, but the thought of that bland, chewy paste is enough to make his stomach lurch. He picks up a piece of the meat instead, still perfectly pink in the center and dripping bloody juice onto the eggs; his mouth waters at the sight, his tongue slipping out to lick the juices up that trickle down his forearm. This time, there's no hiding his pleased moan, the flavors bursting across his tongue and filling him with an entirely different kind of need.

Quinn barely chews the venison, eating with a desperation that borders on manic and whimpering when he goes back for another piece and realizes it's gone. The eggs don't elicit quite the same frantic reaction, but they're easier to swallow whole, so they don't last long either. He licks the plate clean, chasing every last scrap, and forces down another cup of water despite his stomach aching in protest. He knows he's going to need all the energy and hydration he can get, and after thirteen years of managing his own heats, he's learned how to take care of himself at least this much.

Pausing beside the nightstand, he crouches and opens the bottom door, salivating for an entirely different reason when he sees the three dildos Noja had mentioned. They must have been here for quite some time; he never uses the nightstand for anything. They're clean and flesh-colored, veined to replicate an Alpha's cock all the way down to the thick knot at the base of each of them. There's even a suction cup just below that mouthwatering swell to anchor it to whatever surface he chooses.

There's three different sizes, but Quinn knows what his body needs; he grabs the middle one and sticks it to the floor, holding it steady with his good hand and sinking all the way down to just before the knot. Throwing his head back against the side of the bed, he gasps for breath, a guttural moan punched from his chest as his body trembles and the ache between his hips _ finally _ eases. The cock is long enough and thick enough to be just what he needs for the moment; he lifts himself, feeling every inch of it drag out of him smoothly, and drops back down with a whine.

His mind conjures up fantasies regardless of how much he fights it -- broad hands on his hips, a deep rumble in his ears. A nameless, faceless Alpha that watches Quinn ride him, eyes dark and pleased as he twists and writhes on the cock inside of him, feeling the knot bump against his burning rim every time he fucks back down.

"Damn it," he seethes, shame and pleasure twisting together until he can't tell where one stops and the other begins. It's humiliating, it's erotic, and he's caught firmly between the two, his thighs burning and his stomach clenching as he chases the pleasure with bared teeth.

_ Please, _ he thinks desperately, and he doesn't even know what he's begging for. _ Please, please, please. _ He lifts himself until just the tip is inside him, his internal muscles clenching down desperately to keep it in. He waits, panting harshly, until the Alpha in his fantasy groans, and then Quinn drops his hips.

There's a moment of resistance when he tries to force the knot in, is rim stretching until the pain and the pleasure are one, and then his body surrenders with a shudder. It pops in with an audible _ squelch, _ huge and _ sofuckingwrongsogoodohfuck, _ his ass squeezing down on it to coax every last drop from an Alpha that isn't there when he opens his eyes. That's more than fine with him, because the sensation is still there, triggering an orgasm that doesn't feel like it's being ripped from his marrow. Quinn yowls, rocking back and forth frantically as he rides out the pleasure, his right hand pressed tight against his lower stomach like he's trying to feel the pseudo-cock inside of him.

"Damn it," he moans, leaning forward to try and work the dildo out of him. His body isn't ready to let it go yet; not until he reaches between his legs and massages his tight rim until it loosens back up. Another stream of slick gushes free once the cock is gone, his psyche trying to convince him that it's an Alpha's seed, even though his instincts know better. Still, it's enough to calm his heat for the moment so he can crawl back into bed and curl up into a tight ball, tears running down his cheeks as he glares at the dildo. It's covered in his slick, catching the light pouring in through his windows and shining like a beacon that stands for everything he hates about himself.

Deliberately turning his back on it, Quinn digs up one of the cleaner blankets and drags it over himself, covering his head and curling into a ball beneath it. He's trapped in with his own scent, each breath making his tears fall faster until he's muffling his ragged, wretched sobbing into the closest pillow, hating his body, and his instincts, and cursing _ biology _ for making him into this hormonal, sniveling _ wretch. _

This isn't him. This isn't who he is. But for the next nine days, who he is doesn't matter.

\---

_ Gentle fingers stroke through his hair; his head is pillowed on a warm thigh. The sweet, calming scent of lavender and citrus fills his nose, and he hums sleepily, calmed by its presence. _

_ "You've gotten so big, little pea," a voice murmurs, as light and sweet as he remembers from his youth. _

_ Cracking his eyes open, Quinn yawns and nuzzles against the hand petting him, humming happily. When his tired vision focuses, he looks up and sees his father smiling down at him. _

_ "Dad," he whispers, the word accompanied by a distant pulse of pain. He knows this is either a dream, or a hallucination brought on by his heat-fever. Logically, Quinn knows that his father is dead, but here, in the warm light of the family room in his childhood home, he's smiling down at Quinn, his green eyes twinkling. _

_ "Little pea," Arthur Park croons, stroking the tears from his cheeks. "Don't cry, baby boy. I'm here." _

_ His wrist isn't broken here; he's healthy and hale, so there's nothing to stop him from throwing his arms around his father and hugging him tightly while the smaller omega chuckles and pats his back. _

_ "There, now, what's all this? What's got you so distressed, my little Quinn? Though, I guess 'little' isn't exactly right, is it? My, look at how you've grown." _

_ And he has, hasn't he? His father was five-four, and looked exactly as an omega should; full cheeks, slender wrists, large eyes. Tabby takes after him so much, and Quinn looks almost nothing like him; all he has of his father are memories. _

_ "I miss you, Dad," he whispers, resting his hand over his father's when it cups his cheek. The older coyote's hand is so small beneath his, his fingers long and graceful. Quinn's hands are broad, his fingers thick and his claws sharp. He's not built to be delicate -- he's built to _fight.

_ "I'm right here, pea," Arthur coos, drawing him down and kissing his forehead. "Come now, sweetheart, talk to me. Tell Daddy what's wrong. You know I'll do whatever I can to make it right." _

_ "I hate this," Quinn breathes against his father's collar, rubbing his cheek against the wool sweater vest his father loved to wear. "I hate being an omega. I hate this _ heat. _ I hate how weak we are." _

_ "Weak?" his father repeats, gently combing the tangles out of his wild curls. They're sitting on the floor in the center of the room, bathed in the warm sunlight that spills in through the bay windows, and Quinn can't remember the last time he felt so comfortable. _

_ "You know we are, Dad," Quinn mutters. "We're the weak rank, remember? Bottom of the food chain." _

_ "I suppose that depends on who you ask," Arthur muses, his fingers drifting down to rub Quinn's nape. If anyone else tried to do this, he'd rip them apart. "Exactly," his father says, as if he's heard Quinn's thoughts. "Strength has many faces, my pea. You do not have to be the tallest, or have the most muscles. You do not have to be an Alpha to be the strongest. Look at your mother and I." _

_ "You do everything Mom says," Quinn grunts, his hatred for Eleanor muffled in the back of his mind. It's hard to remember that he didn't always despise her. Once, she wasn't Eleanor. She was just Mom. _

_ "It may look that way," his father agrees, chuckling quietly, "but it's not. I do what she asks, because she knows _ how _ to ask. Even I have fangs, baby boy, though I don't often show them. She knows better than to test me." _

_ "Then why do you do it?" Quinn looks up at him, taking in his features; green eyes, wavy brown hair, full cheeks and a gentle smile. Tabby looks so much like him. "Why do you stay with her? She's so cold." _

_ "She is an Alpha, my sweet." Arthur cups his cheeks again, both of them this time, and gently bumps their foreheads together. "Alphas do not feel the same way we feel. They do not express themselves the way we do. Their rank must be strong, and constantly alert. They lead and protect the family; in the animal kingdom, weaknesses do not get you far. It is not the last lion that earns his lionesses. No, pea, it is the lion that fights and shows his merit. It is the brightest bird with the best dance, and the strongest wolf. They are not incapable of kindness; they never were. They are simply bred to show it in a different way." _

_ "Then how can you be sure she ever loved you? You two had an arranged marriage; she's trying to make Tabby and I do the same thing, and we don't want to." _

_ "You cannot force love, and she knows this." Arthur kisses his cheek, licking at his temple and nuzzling his hair with a quiet, comforting rumble. "If one side does not accept, then the marriage will not hold," he says, his words a familiar whisper. "You cannot force a union when one side is opposed. I was not the first omega your mother met, nor was she the first Alpha my parents brought before me. But we chose each other, and we had two beautiful children. We will never regret that." _

_ "She regrets that Tabby isn't an Alpha like her," Quinn mutters bitterly. His back should hurt with the way he's curled into his father's warmth, but pain has no place here. _

_ Arthur laughs. "Tabby will not be single forever, and your mother doesn't regret anything about either of you. She loves you both; she just doesn't show it the same way I do." _

_ "She sent me to be reconditioned so I'll be obedient," Quinn snarls. His father taps him sharply on the back of the head and yips. _

_ "Is that why, Quintus? Is that what she told you herself? Grief manifests in many ways, baby boy. It can consume and contort us, until we don't act anything like we used to. Your grief has changed you; is it so hard to believe that hers has changed her too?" _

_ Quinn bares his teeth. "Don't try to humanize that bitch." _

_ Arthur growls in warning, scruffing him without touching his e-gland. "Do not call your mother a bitch, Quintus Park," he rumbles. "No matter what wrongs she has done, she is still your mother. That will not change." _

_ Closing his eyes, Quinn tucks his face against his father's throat, breathing in his scent. "Why did you have to die?" he whispers miserably. _

_ "All things must die eventually, Quinn." His father kisses his hair. "It's part of the circle of life. We must fade out to make way for the new. I never meant to leave you so soon, or hurt you so much; I would give anything to take this pain from you. All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy. You and Tabitha both. My sweet little peas; I want nothing more than to see you thrive." _

_ "I wish I was a beta. Anything but an omega." Quinn shudders, feeling the phantom warmth of his heat lick at his insides. He doesn't have much time left, but he's loathe to leave this dream. _

_ "I'm glad you are what you are. You are so strong, baby." Arthur leans back to look at him, tears shimmering in his eyes. "Stronger than you know. You need to stop fighting things you cannot change, Quinn. Embrace yourself, and be proud. You're meant for so much more than the hatred you weigh yourself down with." _

_ Quinn hurts. His heart aches, and his limbs feel so heavy. "I don't want this," he whispers. _

_ Arthur touches their foreheads together again and closes his eyes. "My brave, brave boy. You've been fighting alone for so long. Don't you think it's time to let someone shoulder it with you?" _

_ "I don't want to lose who I am," Quinn admits, gripping his father's arms and feeling the smoothness of his Oxford shirt beneath his palms. It feels so real; all of this feels so real. "I won't lose who I am, just because _ they _ think I should." _

_ "Oh, Quinn." Arthur's chuckle is suddenly distant, the warmth wrapped around him fading as the dream falls away. Quinn clutches for him desperately, not willing to let go, but the images trickle through his hands like sand, carried away by a wind he can't feel until only darkness remains. _

_ "Quinn, my sweet boy," his father whispers, his gentle voice tickling Quinn's ears one last time; so faint he has to strain to hear them before they're gone. _

_ "Who says you have to?" _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeyyyyy. Chronic migraines suck, friends, but here I am!
> 
> There is a slight -- SLIGHT -- mention of a dub/non-con hallucination, but seeing as Quinn is in heat and he hates it, I suppose it can all be seen as dub/non-con despite the lack of a physical partner.
> 
> ENJOY.

It's well past midnight when he steps out onto his private deck, his sneakers crunching through the fresh layer of snow that fell earlier in the day. Quinn wraps his robe tightly around himself, dressed in layers to help keep the cold at bay; his fever hasn't broken yet, but not even being in heat can protect him from frostbite. It won't be long before his slick leaks through his sweatpants, but he's got at least ten minutes to enjoy the quiet peace of the night before that happens.

There aren't many clouds out tonight, so he can see the stars and the moon -- it's not full, but out here in the middle of nowhere, it's more than bright enough to cover the world in a silvery, ethereal light. Quinn leans against the railing and smiles tiredly, soaking up the fresh air and ignoring the whispers along the edge of his mind that promise the onset of yet another fever-induced hallucination. The cold air chills his nose and stings his cheeks, but it feels so good after days trapped in his room that he'll happily freeze for a few minutes for the fresh air and the scent of the forest.

His heat won't be over for another few days, but the worst of it is behind him now. His body aches; a headache throbs against his temples, his neck is stiff, and his thighs ache like he's been running non-stop for the last week. Even his dick and his ass hurt, the discomfort a sharp, radiating pain just above his tailbone that makes him shift his weight from foot to foot to try and find a more comfortable position.

He hears something moving out in the forest, the snap of twigs and crunch of snow drawing his attention to the far corner of Noja's yard. It sounds big, whatever it is, and Quinn watches to see if it will cross through the clearing or keep to the trees.

When it does step into view, it takes him several long, startled seconds to realize he's looking at Noja. In the darkness, the muzzle transforms his face into something eerie, moonlight glinting off the steel mesh. His expression is hidden by the shadows of the trees, but there's no mistaking his height or his massive frame. He lumbers slowly across the yard, trudging through snow that comes up almost to his knees, and Quinn watches him pause and lift his head as though he's scenting the air, his breath gusting past the muzzle in frosty white clouds.

After a moment, the bear turns and looks up at him, moonlight turning his bronze pupils to gleaming silver, and Quinn feels the unfamiliar urge to duck out of sight, or freeze like a rabbit that's been spotted by a predator. Like this, haloed in moonlight and dressed for the cold, Noja looks so far from human that the images of forest gods Quinn had originally liked him to when he first met the man seem far more fitting than before. He can see the distinct pattern of fur draped across the Alpha's shoulders; the hat pulled down to cover his ears and a darkness across his face that suggests a beard beneath the muzzle rather than his usual five o'clock shadow.

_ What the hell is he doing outside? _ From the look of it, he's been out in the forest for hours, but he's not hauling wood or carrying back a deer. There's snow crusted up to his thighs, across his chest, and on his gloves. There's even snow on his hat. Now that he's paying attention he can see trails all across the yard that the fresh snow covered, but didn't smooth out completely; they're everywhere, overlapping back and forth in straight lines toward different parts of the forest, but there's only one trail that leads around the side of the house toward the side deck. That one doesn't look as fresh as some of the others, which makes Quinn frown.

Noja is still watching him, his head tilted slightly when Quinn meets his calm, unassuming gaze again. They stare at each other, and Quinn can't bring himself to ask what the hell the Alpha is doing, unwilling to break the peace of the night with words. He's not even sure he's got enough voice left to carry that far, and he's not willing to try, so he just stares, and Noja looks back.

Quinn isn't sure how much time passes before Noja lets out a low, drawn-out grunt followed by a series of clicks. Aside from his bellows and roars the day they fought, it's the most animalistic sound Quinn has ever heard him make. Unsure of what it means, he licks his lips and leans over the railing, which makes the Alpha lift his head and groan again. Their staring contest lasts for a few more minutes before Noja heaves a deep, shuddering sigh. He turns then and lumbers back into the forest, following one of his own trails until he's out of sight again.

Deciding he's had more than enough time to cool off, Quinn heads back inside and begins peeling off his layers as quickly and carefully as possible, his mind racing. He fumbles out of his pants, slick making them stick against the backs of his thighs, and undoes his shirts' buttons; layering several flannels for warmth seemed like a better idea than trying to wrestle in and out of long-sleeved t-shirts. His wrist aches at the angle, his shoulder pulsing, but Quinn keeps at it until his chest is bare, his nipples stiff and swollen. One of the lower teats is bruised, and he vaguely remembers pinching and twisting them during a particularly hard wave. He hadn't realized he'd been so rough, but his pain meter is uncomfortably skewed right now, and almost everything can become pleasurable with the right stimulation.

It hits him while he's pulling off his socks, his lingering confusion washed away by sudden, startling clarity, that Noja looked like he'd been outside for hours because he _ had _ been. Quinn hasn't heard him moving around in the house at all unless he's making food or bringing it down the hallway. Has he been staying outside during Quinn's heat? Where the hell did he _ go? _ How has he keeping himself warm, and why the hell would he subject himself to the snow and the cold like that? All of those trails he's made across the yard -- was he walking to stay warm? Was he tracking something he was hunting? What the hell has he been doing?

_ What's this, caring for someone besides yourself for once? _

Gritting his teeth, Quinn tries to ignore the cruel whispers that sound like his mother, pulling on a shirt that smells a little too much like heat and need and stale, pungent sweat. He crawls into his nest and curls up, burying his face in one of the clean blankets he snuck out of his linen closet to try and warm himself up. He's panting already, without the cold air to help calm the fever itching beneath his skin.

_ Harsh hands pin him down, one between his shoulders and one yanking his hips up. Quinn struggles, unsure if he's trying to get away or press closer to the hot body that covers his. He feels eyes watching, knows his mother is judging him coldly, her lips curled into a vicious smile-- _

Whining, Quinn shakes his head until tears leak from the corners of his eyes, trying to shake out of the hallucination. He knows it's not real, he knows it's just his frayed, exhausted mind. It's the fever and the need bringing to life fantasies he would never have, poisoning his caged desires until he's writhing across the sheets with his hand between his legs, filling his clenching hole until he can find his dildo and fill himself properly.

"Damn it," he gasps, his voice as rough and strained as he knew it would be, scraped raw and full of shame. His mother laughs as the nameless Alpha fucks him, squeezing his wrists until the broken one throbs in protest. _ It's not real, _ he reminds himself, forcing his eyes to focus and see the way his right arm is tucked beneath him, his forearm holding him up despite the strain it puts on his wrist. His left shoulder stings, and his mind tries to trick him, telling him it's phantom teeth digging into his skin, but Quinn fucking knows.

"Stop it," he growls, struggling to focus on what's real and ignore the ghosts that haunt him. "Stop it, stop it, _ stop it." _

_ It's alright, Quinn. _

It's his father's voice, but not, Arthur Park's sweet words echoed by another voice -- deeper, familiar, calm. It's Noja's, he realizes, gentle and filled with understanding and strength that Quinn never asked for. He never asked for any of this, but suddenly the cruel hands holding him down are gentle, fingers stroking down his spine until he whimpers and comes with a sob.

_ That's it, Quinn, there you go. Don't fight it; good, you're so good. You're doing so well. _

"Don't," he moans, furious and mortified by this new betrayal his mind has struck him with. The dildo is heavy and thick inside of him, the knot stretching him the way he needs, but suddenly it's not _ right. _ It's not big enough, not warm enough, not _ enough, _ and Quinn shoves his face into the blankets and screams, using the pain from his taxed throat to ground him in reality.

The hallucination evaporates like mist, leaving only the echoes and the realization of what he's done. It's the hormones latching onto any available outlet, and he knows that logically. This isn't the first time his heat-addled mind has conjured up Noja in some shape or form, but it's the first time the fantasy has _ spoken. _ It's the first time he's been forced to face it in such a stark way, and all Quinn can bring himself to do in that moment is hug his pillow and shake, biting his lip until it bleeds.

Noja has fed him and brought him water for a week -- he's been feeding him things he knows Quinn likes for even longer. Noja has made sure he's safe and comfortable. Noja has avoided his own fucking house, _ patrolling his territory _ despite the weather and muzzling himself so that Quinn will feel safer whether he recognizes the why and the how or not. He's gone out of his way to make Quinn feel at home, even with the threat of reconditioning hanging over everything -- but he hasn't done _ anything _ even remotely close to what Quinn expected. The only times Noja got violent, Quinn provoked him beforehand, and he's not naíve enough not to realize how lightly he got off every time. Noja could have beaten him to a pulp, he could have torn Quinn apart, but he didn't. And afterwards, he tended to his wounds and made sure that he was alright rather than leaving Quinn to fix himself on his own.

None of this has turned out the way he'd expected it to, when Captain Rojas stared him down across the table and told him that his mother was sending him away for reconditioning therapy. Noja is downright _ docile _ compared to the Alphas Quinn is used to, and he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do with that kind of knowledge. How is he supposed to react to an Alpha Dom that looks like _ that _ who reads Sherlock Holmes stories and talks about nature the same way most parents talk about their kids?

How is Quinn supposed to look at him with the memory of a phantom Noja praising and fucking him lurking in the back of his mind? It's bad enough he hallucinated it to begin with; his body's instinctive reaction to the closest virile male. It's still a humiliating shock, because Quinn has never let an Alpha anywhere near him during his heats before. Tabby always kept an eye on him, the same way he watched over her when her heats hit. He's willing to bet that's part of the reason behind his imagination running wild, but it still doesn't feel even remotely good.

Carefully pulling the dildo out, he shudders at the wet _ squelch _ when the knot pops free, his muscles clenching and spasming in protest. Gritting his teeth, Quinn drops it on the pile of filthy bedsheets he'd kicked to the side after he changed them out and leaves it there, slinking into the bathroom. Nausea makes his stomach flip and churn, and he presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to focus on the sound of the shower instead of all the ways he aches.

_ I don't want to be here, _ he thinks mulishly, his sigh drowned out by the spray hitting the bottom of the tub. It's a useless thought to have at this point, after spending the last few weeks with no one but Noja for company. And if Quinn is forced to admit it, he'll grudgingly admit that the bear isn't _ terrible _ company. He's just odd, and an Alpha Dom, and he's supposed to represent everything that Quinn hates.

_ And yet. _

And yet he's risking frostbite while Quinn works through his heat. It could be because he doesn't trust himself, but even Quinn realizes that Noja has more control over his instincts than anyone he's ever met. He doesn't have to like it, but he knows it's true, and he knows the only reason he doesn't like it is because he doesn't _ want _ to like it. He doesn't want to admit that Noja could be anything more than a savage brute, despite the fact that he's been the exact opposite since they got to the cabin. Quinn has been hostile and aggressive, and Noja has accepted his scorn with quiet grace. He's never punished Quinn for acting out. No, any time Quinn got hurt, it was his own doing. It was him pushing until he got a reaction.

Touching the collar as he steps into the tub, Quinn bites his lip; playing with the transmitter box distractedly as he lets the water wash away days worth of sweat and cum and slick. It feels so good against his hypersensitive skin that he moans quietly, his cock twitching but, thankfully, staying soft. He stands there for longer than he probably should, until he feels feverish and dizzy from the heat of the water.

Sinking to his knees, he leans back against the wall of the tub and stretches his legs out before he starts slowly and carefully washing himself. The soap is lightly scented, the combination of lavender and cedar relaxing him until his eyes are half closed and he's letting out quiet, thoughtless subvocal rumbles of pleasure. By the time he's reaching for the shampoo, he's sluggish and sleepy, another fantasy-hallucination creeping up on him while his guard is lowered.

_ Strong hands tenderly massage the shampoo into his hair, long fingers stroking behind his ears to soothe him when he squirms. A thumb brushes over his e-gland but doesn't press into it, moving farther down to rub the top notch of his spine. Quinn groans, tilting his head forward. Lips against the crown of his head makes him hum, and the man treating him with such care chuckles quietly. _

_ "Thank you for letting me do this." _

Quinn opens his eyes after washing the last of the shampoo from his hair, groaning for an entirely different reason. He's clean for the first time in days, though it won't last long. It still feels good, confusing and unwelcome fantasies aside. Reaching up, he turns the water off and sits for another moment to gather himself before he finally climbs out of the tub.

The towel is rough and unpleasant with his skin so sensitive, but he deals with the discomfort in order to dry himself off, hanging it back on it's hook to dry and brushing his wet hair out carefully before combing it. It's going to fluff up into ridiculous curls and tufts as it dries, but it's not as if he's got anyone he's trying to impress; his curls have always been unmanageable anyway.

His room feels colder than it was, and it reeks of sex, but he knows better than to open a window. Wrinkling his nose, he does his best to ignore it as he roots through his chest of drawers to find one of his heat shirts -- an old, oversized t-shirt that comes down to his mid-thigh. It's ridiculously soft, and it doesn't bug his skin when he pulls it on. He looks stupid and he knows it, but it's _ comforting, _ so he hugs himself and goes back to his disaster of a nest to fix it into something more presentable.

Phantom hands guide him back into bed, voices whispering cruel and kind words that intermingle in his head. He curls up, tucking himself into a ball and dragging one of the blankets over himself. He should drink something, but he's already lying down, and the nearly-empty pitcher suddenly feels so much farther away than it actually is. He'll probably regret not drinking later, when he wakes up and his mouth is dry, but for now, Quinn closes his eyes and does his best to rest until the next wave of his heat rolls over him.

\---

His fever breaks on the ninth day, and Quinn sleeps through the tenth, crashing hard after over a week of more stress than one body should physically be able to endure. When he wakes up the next morning, it's to lingering warmth and residual wisps of need that cling stubbornly but don't demand satisfaction. He _ hurts, _ his body one giant throb of pain, and Quinn groans but forces himself to get up anyway.

A hot shower does wonders for a lot of his aches, but he knows from experience that he's going to need to take it easy for the next few days, and go heavy on the over-the-counter pain meds. His thighs are on fire, his ass burns, and his lower back is stiff and sore. His cock feels chafed, and it looks red and raw when he washes it carefully; hissing through his teeth when even the lightest touches make him flinch. His broken wrist throbs angrily in time with his pulse, and he can see fresh bruises through the gaps in the splint.

The salves Noja had used on his throat and after the fight are in the medicine cabinet. Quinn hadn't bothered with them during his heat -- he barely remembered they were there -- but now he pulls them down and unscrews the tops of the squat little containers, breathing in the scents and closing his eyes for a moment before he steels himself and gets to work.

It's easy enough to get the splint off, though he's not entirely sure how he's going to get it back on once he's finished, but that's a problem for later. Quinn smears the cooling salve across his wrist first, wincing at his own touch and gritting his teeth. While it sinks it, cool and tingling pleasantly, he smears more across his thighs and back, reaching between his legs last to apply some around his aching, abused rim. Even his cock gets some, which makes him flinch so hard his spine cracks, but it's worth it for the _ relief _ that follows afterward. He repeats the treatment with the thicker green salve, rubbing the residue across his nipples once everywhere else is taken care of. His pseudo teats have shrunk back down again, sensitive only because he hadn't left them alone during his heat; a few are bruised, but otherwise they're fine. Useless and a source of annoyance, but fine.

He already feels worlds better as the salves work their magic, which is more than fine with him, especially since he can't get the lid off a bottle right now without undoing the work he's just done. It feels strange to walk with it smeared between his thighs and around his ass, but it's not the worst thing he's ever felt, and it's a hell of a lot better than the slick that's finally stopped leaking from him, at least aside from a few residual dribbles.

Quinn dresses with extra care, doing his best not to aggravate his wrist. His shoulder and collarbone still ache, but not nearly as badly as they had before, and a lot of the bruising has faded to a sickly yellow-green mottling. There's still twinges as he works his arms through a long-sleeved shirt to remind him to take care, and the material sticks to his skin where the salves are, but he'll deal with it.

Getting into sweatpants is a little more annoying and takes longer, but Quinn is fucking determined to make himself feel as human as possible, shunting the memory of the wanton whore he'd been deep into the shadowed recesses of his mind. That's never who he's been, and the fact that his biology can overtake his personality with such brutal, overwhelming efficiency rankles in a way nothing else ever will.

Quinn strips his bed last, piling the soiled blankets and sheets on the floor. His slick soaked through them and into the mattress, which is going to require strong cleaning chemicals, but for now, this will have to do; a filthy pile he kicks across his floor to the other side of the room, trying to get it as far away from where he sleeps as he can. Hell, he'd throw it out onto the balcony if he could, but there's no telling what that would attract, so this will have to do for now.

The pitcher is full of water, though it's probably room temperature by now. That doesn't stop Quinn from gulping down three glasses, barely pausing to breathe between them. He's far less dehydrated than he'd expected to be, and he's probably only lost a few pounds instead of what he'd usually lose, so overall, it's not the _ worst _ heat he's endured, in some ways.

_ The damn bear is good at taking care of others, _ he allows, angered by the admittance because he can still remember the fantasies that came along with such dangerous thoughts. He can hear Noja in the kitchen, and even if he doesn't really want to see the Alpha Dom, Quinn would also rather throw himself off the balcony than _ hide _ because of something beyond his control.

Shutting his door behind him, he pads quietly down the hallway, breathing in the fresh air of the cabin greedily. He hesitates at the archway, looking across the rest of the house to where Noja is washing something in the sink.

"Good morning, Quinn. How are you feeling?" the man asks without looking over his shoulder.

"Like shit," Quinn grunts, leaving the safety of the hall and heading straight toward his chair.

"I'm sorry to hear that." And the thing of it is, Noja _ does _ sound apologetic. He's an enigma that Quinn has no idea how to unwrap, nor does he particularly want to try, because that requires a level of emotional investment he's not interested in having.

"Yeah, well, nothin' more sleep won't fix." Curling up in his chair, Quinn closes his eyes with a quiet groan. "I fuckin' hate being that way," he mutters.

"I don't know of many people, omega, Alpha, or otherwise, who enjoy that little control over themselves and their bodies." The water shuts off, and Quinn hears the man take whatever he was washing and set it on the island. "Is it safe to assume you're hungry? I was planning on making a large meal whenever you woke up."

His stomach gurgles almost embarrassingly loud at the thought of food. "Yeah, I'm fuckin' starving." Quinn opens his eyes, meeting Noja's amused gaze, and pauses. "You…" He blinks and frowns, opening his mouth to taste the air.

"You're still wearing the muzzle."

It looks a lot like the one Quinn had worn in the police station, but the mesh bars on Noja's are thicker, and it doesn't sit quite as close to his nose. It looks exactly like the muzzle game rangers would use on a grizzly bear, just adapted to fit a person instead.

"Why are you still wearing the muzzle? I'm not in heat anymore."

"That you are not," Noja agrees, smiling at him as he begins cutting the potatoes he'd apparently been peeling. "It's locked," he explains, gesturing at the side of his head with the hand holding a paring knife.

"Locked?" Quinn parrots back incredulously. "Why the hell is it _ locked?" _

"I had thought that you might feel more comfortable knowing I couldn't just take it off on a whim. I never got the chance to tell you, but yes. It's locked."

"You locked yourself into a muzzle," Quinn repeats flatly, torn between confusion and horror. He'd _ hated _ being muzzled; how powerless it made him feel, like he couldn't protect himself if he needed to, and his wasn't even locked. Noja doesn't seem at all concerned, chopping potatoes like he hasn't taken away one of his main forms of defense. In the mid-morning light, his beard makes him look even more wild where it's pushed through the slats of the muzzle. 

"I did, yes," Noja says, pausing and looking at him with a faint frown furrowing his brow. "Your safety and comfort is my priority, Quinn, especially if you cannot protect yourself. Would you have felt safe if I hadn't been muzzled?"

He doesn't know how to answer that without dredging up memories he'd much rather forget, so Quinn looks away. He curls further into his chair, resting his head against the back.

"That why you were out in the woods?"

He hadn't meant to ask that, but he can't take it back now that it's out there, so he watches the Alpha from the corner of his eye and waits.

Noja pauses, his knife posed above a potato he'd been about to dice. "Would you have felt safe if I'd stayed in the house?" he counters without judgement.

Quinn scoffs, snapping his teeth to express his irritation. "What, so you'll risk frostbite or hypothermia? It's the middle of fuckin' _ winter." _

"The woodshed was more than enough protection. I leave a cot out there if I'm hunting and it gets late, and there's a wood stove, not to mention more than enough tinder and wood." Setting his knife aside, Noja looks at him and smiles widely, a teasing light in his eyes. "Thank you for your concern over my wellbeing, Quinn."

Huffing, Quinn deliberately turns his head away, ignoring the bear's quiet chuckle. He drifts, lulled by the steady sounds of Noja chopping the last of the potatoes; the thunks as he slides them off the cutting board and into a skillet. When he sets it down and moves onto the next thing, humming quietly to himself, Quinn opens his eyes part-way and listens.

"Take it off," he mumbles, his words muffled against his shoulder.

"Hmm?" Noja hums curiously, not looking up from his task.

"Take it off," Quinn says louder, lifting his head and glaring. "Heat's over, genius. You don't need it anymore. Take the damn thing off."

He doesn't like what it represents, or what it reminds him of. Whether it was for his comfort or not, he doesn't like the sight of the muzzle, even on someone like Noja. It doesn't matter that it's padded so it won't bruise the bear's skin, just the sight of it is _ wrong. _ It leaves a bad taste in Quinn's mouth, one he doesn't want to think about. He just wants it _ gone. _

They stare at each other, Noja's head tilted, until the bear finally chuffs in amusement and shrugs. "I can't, by myself," he says simply. "I had a colleague meet me at the end of the driveway; he put it on for me. I have the key, but I can't reach the lock, or see what I'm doing. I'll call him after breakfast to come unlock me."

_ God damn it. _ "Where's the key?" Quinn growls. Like hell he wants to be the reason Noja struggles to eat another meal, and he sure as hell doesn't want to have to sit across from the Alpha and watch it. He can't even imagine finding humor in something so pitiful, not when he knows it'd be because of him. When Noja gestures toward the large wooden desk tucked in the corner against the hallway wall, across the room from the wall of windows, Quinn uncurls himself from his spot and goes to find the key.

"Top drawer, left side, silver key," Noja offers. It's right there, sitting on top a manilla folder with some other random junk. Quinn grabs it and shuts the drawer a little harder than necessary, stalking toward where Noja is watching him.

The man turns without a word, tilting his head back so Quinn can reach the lock half-hidden by his thick, dark hair. He doesn't waste any time, fitting the key into the heavy-looking padlock and turning until it clicks open. As soon as it's done, Quinn tosses the key onto the counter and darts out of the kitchen.

"Don't fuckin' thank me," he snaps before Noja can open his mouth. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Of course not, Quinn." Damn the man for sounding so _ fond _ when he says it. Quinn bares his teeth, climbing back onto his chair and turning his back to the bear in a dismissive gesture.

He hears the sound of the muzzle being set on the counter, and then Noja is humming again, an oddly warbling, melodic sort of melody that seems to vibrate through the air. Quinn listens to it, dozing off despite his better judgement; it'll take more than a day of sleep before he's fully recovered, regardless of how he feels about it.

"Quinn, it's time to eat," Noja calls quietly, rousing him gently rather than startling him awake. He groans as he gets up, knowing it'd be worse without the salves but hating how stiff he still feels. Noja already has the table set, the diced hash browns crisp and golden brown in their bowl. He's also made a small mountain of eggs, and a plate that's piled high with bacon, venison sausage links, and patties that Quinn knows from experience are made from rabbit. It's more food than two people should ever be able to eat, but he's hungry enough to give it his best shot. Noja must be hungry too, if he spent eleven days wearing that damn muzzle.

Noja waits for him to sit before taking his own seat, gesturing broadly at the feast he's prepared. "Dig in, don't be shy. You must be hungry. If you'd like, I can help you re-splint your wrist after breakfast."

So he'd noticed, then. "Sure," Quinn mutters, dragging the bowl of eggs closer and filling almost half his plate. He loads the other half with meat, and dumps potatoes on top of everything, breathing in the scented steam with a satisfied groan. If he were polite, he'd wait for Noja to fill his plate before he started eating, but Quinn is too hungry. The bear fed him well while he was in heat, but his body burned through more calories than he could give it; it's going to take time to come back from that.

Cramming a forkful in his mouth, Quinn shudders from how _ good _ it tastes. It's infinitely better than the blander food he's eaten over the last ten days, when that was all his stomach could handle. He's aware of Noja watching him, the man's whiskey-colored eyes burning into his skin, but for once, Quinn doesn't feel the need to curl protectively around his food and snarl or bare his teeth. After a moment, the Alpha starts eating as well, with nearly the same voraciousness as Quinn. He'd been right, then, that Noja wasn't eating as well with the muzzle on. He'd kept himself uncomfortable for _ Quinn's _ sake, even when he was roaming the woods in the middle of the night.

Quinn digs his fork into his food and pauses, mulling that over. He doesn't like it. It makes him uncomfortable to think that Noja would ever put himself through that, because he knows that he would never, ever consider doing the same thing for someone else. He's never had to muzzle himself around Tabby -- for obvious reasons -- and he'd never thought about anyone having to do it for someone else. Why would they? Who would willingly take that kind of power away from themselves?

"Quinn?"

Noja is watching him, his eyes dark with concern. He's stopped eating as well, his fork posed above his plate like he'd been about to take a bite before he noticed that Quinn wasn't eating.

Swallowing, Quinn looks down at his food, which Noja had prepared with him in mind. The Alpha his mother hired to turn him into a _ proper _ omega; who has fed Quinn, and gone out of his way to make him comfortable. He's taken Quinn's anger, and his temper. He's been his metaphorical as well as his physical punching bag, without complaint. He's sacrificed his own comfort to make Quinn feel safe, and he's never once complained.

"Thank you," Quinn mutters, hunching his shoulders. Before Noja can say a word, he glares at the bear and bares his teeth. "Don't read into that," he warns. "It doesn't change anything."

Noja smiles widely, so pleased that Quinn can't look at him; has to look down at his plate, which is by far the safest option. He starts eating again, quicker than before, and ignores the uncomfortably warm prickle that traces down his spine when Noja chuckles, warm and fond.

"Of course not, Quinn."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write, and you'll see why as it goes along. As always, all mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Tabby, I told you already, I'm _ fine." _

"You've never had a heat away from home," his sister fusses, repeating herself for the third time in less than ten minutes. "What if you hadn't found a safe room?"

"The boss helped me set one up ahead of time," Quinn soothes, trilling quietly to try and calm her. "Tabby, I'm alright. I'm just tired. He's giving me a few more recovery days before he lets me jump back into the build, okay? He's a good man, you know he is."

"I know." Tabby sighs, whining softly. Quinn yips back, grimacing because he knows she can't see it. His boss _ is _ a good man, he wasn't lying about that part. Just the rest of it.

"You know it's gonna take more than some measly heat to keep me down for long, Tabby. Have a little faith."

His sister huffs at him. "I know how bad they are, Quinn, remember? _ Promise _ me you ate and kept yourself hydrated."

"Tabby." Leaning back in his chair, Quinn croons. "I promise, flower," he murmurs, cradling the phone between his cheek and his shoulder. "I wouldn't be calling you from my boss' phone if I hadn't managed to take care of myself. Stocked up on water and protein bars and everything."

"You're going to make me go gray before I'm thirty, Q," she groans. There's a commotion in the background on her end, followed by their mother's voice; she's just gotten home, from the sound of it. Quinn's hackles go up immediately, his lips pulling back to bare his fangs; he keeps his snarl caged in his chest through sheer force of will when he hears her voice.

_ "Who are you talking to, Tabitha?" _

"I'm checking up on Quinn, mother," Tabby answers, her voice muffled like she's pulled the phone away from her face. "I was just about to say goodbye."

_ "Quintus? Isn't he supposed to be working right now?" _ There's a note in his mother's voice, distant though she sounds, that makes him grin viciously. Tabby doesn't know what she's done, and she's worried about him telling his sister. If word got out that she'd sent her son away for reconditioning, she'd be _ ruined. _

"He's still on heat leave for a few days until he's fully recovered. I just wanted to check on him." Bless Tabby, he can hear the stubbornness in her tone, which is a rare thing where their mother is concerned. In that moment, he's never been more proud of her.

"I've got to go anyway, Tabby. I'm due for a snack and another nap. I expect you to tell me all about Tappuk the next time we talk, d'you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles, but he can hear her smile. "I love you, Q. Be safe, okay?"

"For you, flower, I'll always be safe. Bye." He hangs up after Tabby's last, quiet _ bye, _ glaring at the phone like it's personally offended him. It lights up in his hand less than a minute later, buzzing angrily, and he smirks when he sees _ Mayor Eleanor Park _flash across the screen.

"How's Tabitha?" Noja calls, appearing from the hallway a second later. He's dressed for a hunt, with his bow slung across his shoulder and a quiver at his hip. His cap is pulled down over his ears, his eyes barely visible beneath the fur trim.

"She's fine." Setting the phone on the table, he watches it vibrate before resting his head against the back of his chair to look at Noja. "The Mayor doesn't seem to be happy that I'm allowed to call my sister."

"Shame." Noja eyes the phone. "I'll call her when I come back," he decides after a moment of contemplation. "I'd rather not lose the light."

"Did she think I was banned from phones?" Quinn asks, curling his lip in disgust. "That seems rather barbaric, and ludicrous. Tabby would lose her shit if she couldn't contact me at all."

"As far as your mother was aware, you were on lockdown for trying to run away. I hadn't told her you were off it yet." Noja says it so _ casually, _ checking his quiver while Quinn stares, letting what he's said sink in until it clicks.

"You _ lied _ to her?" It comes out sounding incredulous, but he's more surprised than anything, caught off-guard by the blatant misinformation Noja had apparently fed his mother. "How long ago was that? I haven't tested the transmitter in _ weeks." _

Noja hums, tilting his head back in thought. "Mmmm, some time before your heat? She wanted to come out and see your progress for herself, and I told her you were on lockdown for trying to run in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no visitors; just confinement."

"You're lying to the woman signing your checks. Are you insane? Do you have any idea what she'll do when she finds out?" Quinn can't believe Noja's nerve, and he can't understand it. Why would he go to such lengths to deceive someone with as much power and influence as Eleanor Park? Quinn should be chained to a wall and beaten bloody, or stuffed full of toys until he begs for mercy, or whatever the hell it is his mother thinks is being done to him. Why would Noja lie about his reconditioning?

"Your concern is very touching, Quinn." Noja smiles at him, his eyes gentle and warm with fondness, sunlight catching his whiskey colored irises and turning them to molten amber. He still hasn't shaved his beard off; if anything, it's somehow gotten thicker and more wild in the last few days. He looks every inch the mountain man he should be, rugged and powerful, with a hint of something feral that Quinn can almost taste on the back of his tongue. Noja may speak carefully and hold himself in a neutral posture more often than not, but he's seen the bear lose at least a fraction of his control before, and he _ knows _ it's there.

"Don't read into it," he warns, pulling his knees to his chest and glaring without any heat. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Of course not, Quinn," the Alpha humors him, clearly amused as he heads for the door. "You need rest; there's cold meats in the fridge, and protein bars in the pantry cabinet. Help yourself, as usual, and I'll be back before dark."

Quinn doesn't say anything, his mind whirring with questions he'll never ask and can't even begin to know how to answer. Noja glances back at him but doesn't say anything, sliding the door shut behind him and disappearing down the steps. Quinn listens to the crunch of his boots through the snow, his ears twitching. When he can't hear the bear's footsteps anymore, he uncurls himself from his chair and picks up the phone that's still buzzing with an incoming call.

Putting it on silent for his own sanity, Quinn snorts and drops it back onto the table, glaring from his mother's title to the empty deck. Noja's casual admittance of lying is still eating away at him, because the man has no reason to. He's said it before -- Eleanor Park gave him full impunity over Quinn. She signed him over and made Noja his temporary Power of Attorney, giving him carte blanche over Quinn's entire life.

At first, the man seemed like he was going to use their difference in size to bend Quinn to his will. He threatened him, and pinned him, but aside from those showy displays -- because there's nothing else they could be -- he's been kind and considerate. He's been downright _ gentle, _ and the juxtaposition of what he looks like and how he actually _ is _ still gives Quinn whiplash.

Kind Alphas are not something Quinn is accustomed to. Alphas are only ever kind when they're courting, from what he's seen. They're strong, and manipulative, and controlling. They will behave however they need to in order to win the affections of their partners, even in an Alpha-beta relationship. 

He has vague, shadowed memories of his mother and father together, all of them tinged with grief and polluted by bitterness. He remembers how _ happy _ his mother was when she found out she was expecting a girl -- and how crushing her disappointment was when his sister's rank test came back _ omega. _ Their father was thrilled, though he would have been ecstatic no matter what rank they ended up being.

Eleanor wasn't a particularly _ horrid _ mother. She was distant and aloof, but she used to smile a lot more, before his father died. She used to pet Quinn's hair when he was sick, and sing him off-key lullabies to help him sleep. Sometimes, when they thought Quinn was in bed, his parents would dance around the living room, talking quietly and smiling, and the air was full of the unique scent of their love.

And then his father died, and all of that went away. Eleanor became even more distant and cold, pushing them harder than she had any right to. Her punishments were harsh, her demands ironclad, and that's when Quinn went feral. He'd always been more wild than Tabby, but after his father died, and his mother became someone he didn't recognize anymore, he stopped trying to cage himself. He fought back, snarling and snapping like a cornered beast, pushing inch by inch until he had enough room to leap toward his freedom.

Alphas on the streets tried to bring him to heel. Alphas his mother picked for him either refused him on sight, or tried other ways to tame him. Few were ever kind because they wanted to be, and when Quinn showed no signs of being swayed, they met him with cruelty and disdain. Even Alphas in the underground thought they could cow him with an Alpha Tone, and those ended up being his bloodiest fights, his victory tasting all the sweeter when he got to see the confusion and fear twist across their faces when they realized that a Tone wouldn't work on him.

Quinn had been expecting something similar from Noja. He'd anticipated bloody fights and constant battles for dominance, and he's gotten none of that. Noja treats him like an _ equal. _ He doesn't pity Quinn, or try to coddle him. He's fed him, and tended to his wounds, but never once has he treated Quinn as a prize to be won, or something lesser. He doesn't treat him like an omega at all, and it's refreshing, but it's _ confusing _ as well. There's something else to it, something that Quinn hasn't figured out yet, and he doesn't like feeling constantly caught off-guard. Noja's almost cheerful disregard of his mother's ire burns like an itch beneath Quinn's skin. It tastes like a mystery, smoky and rich with expectation against the roof of his mouth, and he's determined to figure it out.

Noja rarely uses the desk in the main area; he's told Quinn before that he has a smaller desk in his room that he works at. It's a starting point though, so Quinn silently pads over to it, checking for any locked drawers. He's pleased when they all open smoothly for him, though there's nothing of interest at first glance. He finds bills marked as paid, random index cards, and pens.

Opening a bottom drawer, he pauses when he sees the muzzle, his hand hovering over the woven metal. He remembers what Noja looked like that night he came out of the woods, dressed for the warmth but somehow still so feral, his bronze pupils burning through Quinn even from so far away. The muzzle had made him look like a beast, something straight from a pagan tale brought to life and staring him down through the darkness. He'd looked like he could have eaten Quinn whole, consuming everything he was until there was nothing left.

Slamming the drawer closed, he grits his teeth and shakes his head, annoyed by the hormones that have lingered despite his heat being over. It's so easy to combine the fantasies with what he saw that night, twisting them into some dark, perverse thing that throbs to life and makes him tremble. Quinn kicks the desk, grunting at the sharp pain but relishing the way it clears the fog from his mind.

This is all Noja's fault. He's so fucking confusing, looking like he does but treating Quinn with so much kindness. Lying to his mother, treating him like someone worthy of decency and respect -- never pitying him, but never pushing the boundaries of his comfort either.

_ What the hell do you want from me? _ Snarling, he kicks the desk again, listening to it bang against the corner with a satisfying _ thunk. _ He punches it for good measure, his shoulder twinging in protest, but it's worth it despite the pain. Stalking into the hallway, he glares toward Noja's room, pausing when he notices that the Alpha's door is partially open. Noja never leaves his door open. Even when he's awake, he always keeps it shut, and Quinn knows from experience that it's locked whether he's in his room or not.

_ If I'm gonna find answers, it'll be in there. _

Pulling in his scent completely, he looks over his shoulder toward the deck, but he knows that Noja is already deep in the woods. He said he wouldn't be back until nearly nightfall, and he never forgets anything when he's out on a hunt. There's no reason for him to come back barely an hour after he left.

Pushing the door open feels almost too easy, as if he's committing a crime. His room is his safe space, where he knows that everything is his and Noja will never come in without permission or probable cause. Sneaking into the man's den feels personal and intimate, an uncomfortable prickle shivering down his spine when the man's scent surrounds him. Noja keeps his pheromones pulled in almost as much as Quinn does, but being an Alpha Dom, he can't suppress them completely. Here, in his own sacred space, he has no reason to do so, and it's _ everywhere. _ It's pungent and strong, filling Quinn's nose and making his chest tight. He covers his face with his hand, trying to dilute the bear's scent with his own, but it isn't easy. It overtakes everything until he feels dizzy from it, and he knows he needs to work fast and get the hell out of the room before he gets himself in trouble.

Noja's bedroom looks as rustic as he'd imagined it would, his covers dark and simple with the exception of a few fur blankets and some brightly colored Southwest Navajo looking designs. His bed is massive, which makes sense considering how big he is, but aside from the nightstand and his desk, and a chest of drawers that looks like the handmade twin of Quinn's, it's surprisingly bare. He's painted designs on a few of the walls, but there's no artwork hanging up. There's no clothes on the floor, and the hamper is empty. There's another design of some sort on his window, but Quinn ignores it in favor of the desk.

Picking up one of the papers, he scans it quickly, but there's nothing of interest that jumps out at him. There's a slim, dark laptop resting on a protective pad, but he knows better than to try his luck -- it's more than likely password protected. There's a piece of paper tucked underneath it though, with the familiar heading of an email, so he carefully lifts the laptop and pulls it free.

It's an email between his mother and Noja, dated a few days before he went into heat. Quinn reads it, feeling his lips curl at his mother's inquiries; how he's behaving, if the treatment is having an effect, when Noja expects he'll be fully rehabilitated. Her words are emotionless, her sentences curt and cruel, as though she's asking about some common street criminal in a program rather than her own son.

Noja's reply is what gives him pause, and he frowns heavily as he reads over the man's response, confusion stirring to life in his chest as his eyes flick over every single line.

_ Esteemed Mayor Alpha Park, _

_ You are a dedicated mother, to express such concern over your son's wellbeing. Quintus remains resistant to gentler forms of correction; I have had to become quite creative with my punishments. His last attempt to escape resulted in a broken wrist and a fractured collarbone, both which I have treated, but he remains ungrateful. I have revoked his phone privileges and implemented a new lesson. He will now spend two hours every day in a bound kneel at my feet, muzzled and gagged. We will continue this until he learns humility. I must continue to lock him in his room every night and chain him to the bed. He is a strong-willed creature, but I am confident that, with time and a heavy guiding hand, he will learn. _

_ If there is anything you wish for me to change, or any concerns you may have, please let me know. _

_ Until next time, _

_ Alpha Dom Noja _

_ O.R.O _

"What the fuck." Quinn reads it all again, absolutely baffled and beyond confused. "What the hell is this?"

Below Noja's bullshit email, his mother has written a short reply.

_ Alpha Dom Noja, _

_ I am grateful for your dedication to your work, and I thank you for doing what must be done to recondition Quintus. I remind you of your impunity, and that I have signed all rights over to you. Do what you must. Quintus must learn. _

_ Mayor Alpha Park _

Disgusted, Quinn drops the paper back onto the desk. Why the hell would Noja go through the trouble of printing something like that? Why the hell would he lie like that? He's never come near Quinn with a muzzle, much less a rope to tie him up. He's never been chained to _ anything. _ What the fuck is the point of writing such ridiculous bullshit?

There's more papers on the desk, some that mean nothing to him as well as more emails between Noja and his mother. In some, Eleanor gives _ options _ for Noja to try, from backhanding Quinn for his temper all the way up to tying him down and flogging him if he becomes violent. Noja's responses are always enthusiastic, his praise laid on thick enough to make Quinn feel nauseous. This Noja, shaped out in dark font, is beyond fake to the point that it's a completely different person. How is his mother falling for something so absurd? Is she that desperate to break him?

Doing his best to put everything back the way he found it, he opens the first drawer and pulls out the dark blue folder inside, flipping it open and pausing when he sees more emails. These aren't addressed to his mother; they're back-and-forths between Noja and an unknown man named Dwayne.

_ Dwayne, _

_ Attached are the most recent emails between Alpha Park and myself. I have printed hard copies as well for the case file, and I will print our conversations to add to the records. Mayor Park is astonishingly persistent, and almost too eager for me to cause her son physical harm. I believe Quinn is slowly becoming comfortable with my presence, and I will continue to ensure he never has reason to feel differently. I will keep you updated. _

_ Timber _

Swallowing thickly, Quinn pulls the page from the folder sleeve to read Dwayne's answer.

_ Timber, _

_ See that you do. I'll add the new emails to the case, but we'll need more concrete evidence before we can proceed. Sounds like the kid has plenty of reason to feel how he does, with a mother like that. _

_ Take care, and don't get complacent. _

_ Dwayne. _

Quinn puts everything back, closing the drawer quietly and backing out of the room. He shuts the door behind him, letting out a shaky breath. Leaning against the wall, he digs his nails into his palms to stop his hands from shaking. He can't stop thinking about the emails; his mother's insistence, Noja's drastically different masks, and the vague comments about a case file and evidence. It sounds like something taken from the pages of a mystery novel, but fuck if he can figure out what it actually means.

"What the hell is going on?" he whispers, staring at the opposite wall without seeing it as his mind churns like a raging storm.

Who the hell _ is _ Noja, and what the fuck is he doing? And where the hell does Quinn fit into it?

\---

The sun is setting by the time he hears Noja trekking back across the yard. The ember-orange light stretches across the snow, turning it to crystallized fire he can't help but be mesmerized by. He's always enjoyed nature and the forest, and to see it so vastly untouched by careless human hands is refreshing. It's breathtaking, really, and Quinn takes it all in from the window closest to the stove, stirring the macaroni and cheese distractedly. The steaks are almost done searing, and the peas are steaming in their bowl. He's managed to time things pretty much perfectly, which makes him happy.

It's not the first time he's cooked for the both of them, but it's not a habit he indulges in often, especially not for someone like Noja. He and Tabby shared the cooking duties more often than not, and ordered out when neither of them could be bothered to make anything. He enjoys cooking for his sister, but making food for the Alpha Dom feels far too much like playing house, and he doesn't like it. However, he knows that hunting can be exhausting, and with all of the thoughts and questions and accusations whirring through his head even hours after he found the email print-outs, if he can catch Noja off-guard even a little, then that will help give him the upper hand in the conversation he's damn well going to pry out of the bear tonight.

Noja comes up the steps slowly, taking far more care than he usually does. Quinn turns off the burners and moves the macaroni and cheese to a hot pad, wiping his hands on his sweatpants and frowning toward the door. Usually Noja field-dresses his larger kills and leaves them to hang once he's home; he never brings anything big into the house. Uncertainty makes his stomach churn, and Quinn reaches for a knife, stalking silently across the kitchen and waiting just out of sight with tension coiling his muscles. He doesn't hear anyone else with Noja, but his paranoia is off the charts after this morning, and he's not about to get blindsided by a stranger.

He hears Noja shift with a grunt, and a heartbeat later the door slides open. The bear lumbers into the house, his furs stripped from his shoulders and bundled in his arms. He's tucking them close to his chest like he's trying to protect them, and Quinn is just about to ask what the hell he's doing when he sees the bundle twitch, and a small head rises from where it's been tucked against the Alpha's shoulder.

He drops the knife, hardly hearing it as it clatters to the floor -- he's damn lucky it didn't end up in his foot. He can't really focus on that right now, his eyes glued to the shivering fawn Noja has just brought inside with him.

All he can think to say is, "What the fuck?"

"Quinn!" Noja's voice is a whisper, but there's no hiding his concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Quinn says numbly, still staring at the fawn. It's looking back at him with large, wet brown eyes, its slender muzzle speckled with melting frost. Its nose is quivering. "Why d'you have a _ fawn?" _

"Something killed her mother, and she's injured and weak." Noja shifts his grip, cradling the fawn with one arm so he can shut the door and stop letting the cold air in. As soon as it's closed, he's back to holding her with both arms, stroking the furs gently to settle her when she flinches. "I'm licensed to care for and rehabilitate wildlife; this isn't the first time it's happened. Winters are harsh here, and most predators don't hibernate. She must have run when they took down her mother and come back once they were gone. She's still got some of her spots, so she must have been a late-season birth."

Noja looks at him, and then past him, and his eyes light up. "Oh! You cooked? To what do I owe the honor?"

Quinn doesn't answer; he can't bring himself to look away from the fawn. She's so small, and her eyes are so _ big. _ Her trembling ears look almost too big for her head. She's lost most of her fawn coloring from what he can tell, though he does see a few spots scattered down her neck.

"So you're just gonna… what. Keep her?"

"I'm going to get her back to health and teach her to forage," Noja replies, stepping carefully across the hardwood floors -- probably so his boots don't thump too loudly and scare her. "Once she's better, I'll release her back into the wild. It happens at least once every winter, so I'm always prepared."

Quinn follows, feeling wrong-footed and caught off guard despite telling himself all day that Noja wasn't going to be able to get the upper hand. He hadn't counted on _ this _ though, and he watches as the Alpha Dom kneels beside the couch and sets the fawn and her bundle down on the cushions. She squirms, making a sound that's pure distress; Noja strokes her neck to calm her, murmuring quite nonsense, and Quinn feels something in his chest clench and _ shift. _

"Is she gonna be okay?" he asks quietly, creeping closer to the pair. The fawn looks at him, her eyes shining, and he coos low in his throat. Her ears twitch and flick toward him, raised and alert, but she doesn't seem petrified so much as curious.

"She will be, once she's rested and healed up. I've got pellets, and mush if she needs something softer. That'll have to tide her over until we get a good day of melt and she can get to the grass." Noja unlaces his boots and pulls them off before he stands back up, looking from them to Quinn. "I know it's a lot, and it's a shock, but will you stay here with her for a minute? The pellets are in my bathroom closet next to the first-aid kit."

Quinn nods, unsure of what to say, and Noja beams at him, offering a grateful, "Thank you, Quinn," before he's padding quickly but quietly across the room. He doesn't watch Noja leave, trilling for the fawn as he creeps closer and slowly offers his hand. She must be so scared, but she's acting so brave, touching her nose to his middle knuckle and snuffling curiously before she looks up at him.

"Can I pet you?" he asks, slowly lowering himself until he's kneeling beside the couch where Noja had been and resting his chin on the armrest. She watches him, still shivering, and he can't tell if it's from nerves or the cold. When he reaches out again, she doesn't try to headbutt his hand or kick free of the furs, so he takes that as a good sign; she does flinch when he pets her neck with a finger, but when she realizes he's not going to harm her, she quickly settles. She even turns to tuck her nose against his wrist, and Quinn coos encouragingly, letting her sniff and nose at him until she's satisfied.

If there's one thing Quinn softens for aside from Tabby, it's animals -- especially young ones. Whether that's a product of his biology or something personal to him, he isn't entirely sure, but the only reason they don't have an apartment full of creatures is because the landlord doesn't allow pets.

By the time Noja returns, Quinn has managed to creep up onto the couch beside the fawn, and he's gone from careful one-finger strokes to cradling her head in his hand. She's not trembling as much anymore, the heat of the house chasing away the cold, and she's squirmed enough to unravel her nest of furs and stretch her legs a little. She's got more spots dotted down her back, some almost completely faded while others are still mostly white. With the bundle undone, he can smell her blood more than before, but he can't see exactly where she's injured.

"She likes you," the bear notes, setting down his medical kit and an unopened bag of pellets.

"She's weak and tired," Quinn replies, petting her cheek and working his way up to one of her velvety ears. Her eyes close partway and she tilts her head toward his hand, bleating quietly. It's a strange sound, low and guttural, and he lets go immediately.

"Shit, did I hurt her?"

"Not at all." Noja carefully unwraps the furs, and Quinn finally gets a good look at her injury. It looks like she got her back leg caught on something while she was running; the gash is long, from the top of her flank to her elbow joint, but he can't tell how deep it is. It's matted with both dried and fresh blood, clumping the fur and leaking down to cover the rest of her leg.

"Holy fuck. She's not gonna lose her leg, is she?" Quinn hovers, trying not to block the light so Noja can see what he's doing. It's probably stupid to already feel so invested in the wellbeing of a wild fawn, but his instincts will not be swayed. There is a young creature that needs cared for, and he needs to make sure she's alright.

Noja shakes his head. "She shouldn't. The wound looks relatively fresh, and the cold helped keep infection and rot from setting in. Hopefully she avoided frostbite as well." He works as he talks, stroking the fawn from shoulder to flank to get her used to his touch before inching his way down her leg. "Can you do me a favor and heat up some water for me? Not to boiling, just until it steams. I'll need a dish towel as well -- third drawer down to the left of the fridge. Those are the ones I use for the wildlife."

"Sure." Quinn is loathe to leave the fawn's side, but Noja clearly knows what he's doing, so all he can do is head back into the kitchen. He can see them, at least, which settles him somewhat, but he still hurries to fill a pot and get it on the burner. Pausing at the sight of the food, he bites the inside of his lip, remembering the conversation they need to have -- which he almost forgot about, when Noja showed up with a goddamn wild animal.

Filling one of the plates, he takes it back out to the living room and sets it on the table within easy reach, leaving the silverware beside it. Noja smiles at him, warm and sweet and fond, and Quinn tried not to bare his teeth in case he scares the fawn. He's not even _ angry _ about the affection, just uncomfortable with it, and he's not entirely sure when his rage began to shift to something else. Right now, he doesn't have the time to figure it out either.

"Water will be ready soon," he mutters, turning his back on the bear and stalking back out to the kitchen.

"Thank you, Quinn. I appreciate it," Noja says, sounding so pleased and proud that it makes his hackles bristle from a fresh wave of embarrassment.

"It doesn't mean anything," he snaps, trying to muster the familiar anger and coming up empty. The fawn bleats, a little bit louder and more distressed, turning her head to try and see him. Noja shushes her, trying to calm her down again, and Quinn coos to settle her.

"Of course not, Quinn," the Alpha agrees, humoring him without sounding even a little patronizing. He's smiling as he eats a few bites, and Quinn watches like a hawk as he feeds the fawn a handful of peas. She licks them up without hesitation, nosing across his palm for more once they're gone.

"Can I ask you something, Noja?" Quinn turns the burner off and finds a bowl to pour the steaming water into, using one of the towels from the drawer to carry it out and set it on the coffee table.

"Of course you can," the man says, dipping the towel in to wet it and wringing most of the water out -- probably so it won't burn the fawn as he's cleaning her leg. If the water is too hot for him, he doesn't show it.

Skirting around the table, Quinn folds himself up in his chair and stares the bear down, narrowing his eyes when Noja tilts his head curiously.

"Quinn? What's wrong?"

"What the hell is O.R.O?" Quinn asks bluntly, watching as Noja goes still, his hand hovering over the fawn's leg. "And why have you been lying to my mother about my reconditioning?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. There is SO MUCH DIALOGUE in this chapter hnnngh. Like, holy hell you guys. Why? Just... why?
> 
> It's another short-ish one I'm afraid, but hopefully y'all still enjoy it ;0; We're gettin' somewhere, now. Woooo.
> 
> HAVE AT.

Quinn sets his plate down on the coffee table a little harder than necessary and doesn't bother to apologize. Noja doesn't comment on it, watching him with a wariness that seems out of place for the Alpha Dom. He doesn't look like someone who should feel the need to be careful or cautious about anything, especially where an omega is concerned. The fawn is sleeping peacefully on the couch, sedated and dosed with pain medication; she hadn't fought getting cleaned up, but Noja had to sedate her for her own safety before he could cut away the deadened flesh and stitch the wound closed. There thankfully hadn't been any sign of infection, but she's got a drainage tube for the moment just in case.

Keeping his eyes on her, Quinn rips his steak into pieces and pops one into his mouth, barely tasting it as he chews. "Start talkin'," he growls. If he looks at Noja right now, he's going to lunge, so he chooses to focus on the fawn instead. She helps him remember to breathe.

Noja sighs heavily, his spoon scraping across his plate. He chews, swallows, and makes a low, mournful grunting noise that reminds Quinn of the night he watched the bear lumber across the yard.

"Officially, O.R.O stands for the Omega Reconditioning Organization," he begins, holding his hand up to placate Quinn when he snarls. _ "Officially," _ he stresses. "And yes, there is a company that goes by that name, with all the bells and whistles to go along with it, but it's a front."

"I'm sick of your cryptic bullshit," Quinn bites out, baring his teeth and feeling the familiar ache as his canines drop. "Stop pullin' me in goddamn word circles, Noja. Just fuckin' _ tell me." _

"O.R.O stands for Omega Relocation Organization."

_ That _ blindsides Quinn; that's the last thing he expected to hear. His mouth snaps closed, his fangs shrinking back down as he stares at Noja. The man smiles thinly at him, looking vaguely pained.

"Bullshit," Quinn grunts after a moment of startled silence. "There's no such fuckin' thing."

"I assure you, there is." Noja rests his silverware on his plate and crosses his legs, leaning back and tilting his head over the back of the couch. "O.R.O has been around for about thirty years or so now," he says, closing his eyes. It's the most vulnerable position Quinn has ever seen him take; he stares at the man's neck, where his pulse is thudding. "We help omegas escape from families and mates who would rather see their spirits broken into mindless, obedient cattle. Some "escape" while in our care. Others run away once they're back home, but we help orchestrate it, and we make sure they have money and a safe place to go. We don't leave them stranded on the streets."

The only thing Quinn can think of to say is, _ "Why?" _

Noja sits up fully, meeting his stunned expression with a small, sad smile. "Why not?" he asks, running a hand through his hair. He sighs. "Rank isn't chosen; you're born what you are, just like with anything else. Why should anyone get to decide how another person should be treated based on something as unchangeable as your eye color, or your hair color? You can cover it up, sure, and try to make it something else, but that doesn't change anything fundamental. It doesn't make you lesser, or weaker. Omegas can be more ferocious than Alphas; you've proved that very well." He manages a chuckle, tilting his head toward Quinn. "Alphas can be just as submissive as omegas. Betas can be better leaders, better followers, better at _ anything _ they set their minds to. Yet somewhere, people forgot that. They believed biology determined someone's worth, and began to train others to never step outside of that role. It became comfortable, and then it became _ law, _ and anyone who didn't fit into their rank became a problem. It didn't used to be that way."

"If you've been doing this for so long, how is it you haven't gotten caught?" Quinn is trying to wrap his head around what Noja has just said, but it's difficult. _ No one _ pays attention to what happens to abnormalities like him, aside from forcing them to fit into a predetermined mold. No one cares, so long as nothing threatens their way of life. If an omega is too strong-willed, they're corrected. If an Alpha is considered weak, they're pushed to get stronger, or they never advance in society. In some cultures, betas hardly even matter, and that's not _ fair. _ Millions of people are shunned every day, but so few ever hear about it. Or they just don't care, if it doesn't affect them.

"We're very, very careful about how we handle things." Noja nudges his plate closer, reminding him that he's barely touched his food. "We gather evidence, we leave no paper trails, and we work off the grid. If a case makes it to court, which some do, we make sure the lawyer is one of our own, to help keep the secret. As much as we wish for change, and fight for equality, most of the world isn't ready to accept that kind of overhaul. No one wants to be forced to rework the wiring in their brain that comes from centuries of conditioning. It can't happen overnight. So O.R.O does what it can. We do what we have to. We help omegas find better lives; we teach them to _ pretend _ until it's safe, and then we make sure they never have to pretend again."

"So, what. I'm a pet project?" Quinn glares down at his claws, flexing his fingers and scoffing. "You kept me here for this long and told me _ nothing. _ Why? Didn't I have a right to know?"

"Would you have believed me, if I'd told you? Or would you have accused me of trying to trick you?" Noja touches his palm, his fingers so much bigger than Quinn's, but so astonishingly gentle when they stroke along the length of his life-line. "I needed you to understand that I would not hurt you just because I was told to. I told you in the beginning, Quinn; actions have consequences. I did not want to bring you more pain, and I did my best not to." He touches the edge of the splint, his scent curdling into something sour and tangy. "I did not succeed entirely, and for that, I am truly sorry. I do not expect forgiveness; you owe me nothing. I waited, because I wanted you to learn that you would not be punished for speaking your mind. I wanted to give you time to relax and find comfort here, rather than feeling like you constantly needed to keep your guard up."

"Why?" He's starting to feel like a broken record, but Quinn still can't wrap his head around it. "Why risk so much for a stranger? Do you know what'll happen to you if someone finds out you helped their kid run away? Why would you risk your life for someone else's? What do you get in return?"

"The joy of seeing them free," Noja says, like it's just that simple. It's never that easy.

"At the cost of your own imprisonment!" Quinn shouts. The fawn jerks awake, wide-eyed and frightened; he quiets down immediately, cooing to calm her when she bleats in distress. "No one is that selfless," he hisses, glaring at Noja.

"Because society trains them not to be," the Alpha replies quietly, petting the fawn's neck until she lays her head back down. "It's become a battle; step on others to get where you want to be. My father came from a small village in rural Mexico; no one used anyone else as a stepping stone, there. Everyone worked together to raise livestock and tend the fields. Omegas were valued just as highly as Alphas. On the reservation, it was the same way. No one in my mother's tribe ever looked down on anyone else. The soul is what matters, not the rank. Their chief was a beta, and she was mated to an omega. No one questioned it. No one ever complained about an omega being a shaman, or an Alpha watching over the cubs. Life is meant to be lived, and never judged."

"You'd risk your life and freedom to help a stranger run away," Quinn rasps. "You know the laws, Noja. You read them to me yourself. An omega belongs to their family until they either die, get mated, or the family signs their own power over to them. Helping them run away is a crime."

"Which is why we have the family sign their rights over to us." Noja lifts his head, his eyes shining. "Each one of us, when we take responsibility over an omega, has their power of attorney transfer their guardianship to the Alpha that will be working with them. When they are ready, we dissolve our rights. They become their own overseer. Their life is their own, then."

"What about the ones who get sent back to their families?" Quinn challenges.

"We build a case. We document _ everything, _ Quinn; you saw that for yourself. Emails, text messages, phone calls. Photographs. X-rays if we need them. Everything gets documented, so that when the time comes, the omega can fight for their freedom. Our lawyers are very good at what they do. The omegas that run away from home without building a case are already in control of themselves. Their families can't force them to come back even if they do find them."

"What about cases like mine?" Pushing his plate away, Quinn hugs his legs to his chest and rests his cheek on his knees, giving Noja the side-eye. "How long were you gonna keep this from me?"

"Until I thought you might be ready to hear it." Picking up their plates, Noja takes them to the kitchen. He cleans up, putting the leftovers in Tupperware and wiping everything down. Quinn typically cleans as he cooks, so it's far from a disaster, but he doesn't say anything.

"That sounds like a placation," he grumbles, following the man with his eyes while he works. "Don't you think it would have changed a lot, if I'd known?"

"Would it have?" Setting the pot in the sink, Noja begins to wash it. "Feral natures are not so easily let go of, Quinn. You don't trust easily, and you have no reason to. If I'd told you right away, it wouldn't have changed anything."

"It would have for _ me." _ Rubbing his face, Quinn sighs roughly. "Whatever. So, now what? You've told me; what do we do now?"

Noja pauses, looking at him over his shoulder. "We?" he repeats, grinning wildly. Quinn chuffs at him, ignoring the Alpha's warm amusement and sliding off his chair. He crawls onto the sofa and curls up beside the fawn, petting her muzzle when she stirs. It takes her no time to settle, letting out a heavy sigh and closing her eyes again.

"I'm the one getting the shit end of this stick," Quinn mutters, looking at her instead of the bear watching him. She needs a name -- he doesn't want to just call her fawn constantly. Even if she's not with them for long, she still deserves a name.

"I didn't think I'd been _ that _ awful to you," Noja teases gently. He's got soap suds up to his elbows; his sleeves are rolled up, and the cuffs look damp. It's so startlingly domestic, his expression so warm and fond, that Quinn can't look at him without something twisting and lurching in his chest. He doesn't like the way it makes him feel, or the way it drops into his stomach and flutters wildly. It feels like nausea, but not, and he swallows thickly to force back the phantom bile that's crept up his throat.

"What do you need from me?" he asks, and Noja's expression flickers. The bear heaves a deep, groaning sigh, leaving the dishes in the drying rack and coming back around to sit in his chair. Quinn traces the weave of the antlers he's worked into the armrests with his eyes, wondering if the man killed the bucks himself, or if he'd found them after they'd been shed.

"Information," Noja replies after a moment, scratching at his beard. "History," he clarifies, his claws kneading into the overstuffed upholstery when he drops his hands. "A pattern of abuse, from as far back as you can remember. Anything and everything you can think of, even if it doesn't seem relevant to you."

"What'll you do with it, if I tell you?" Quinn crosses his arms and chews the inside of his lip. For once, he's not trying to be combative, but Noja is asking him to volunteer information he's never shared with anyone. Bringing down his walls is no easy feat; he can't even tell Tabby the truth, so how can he tell anyone else?

"Have her removed from office, for one thing." Seeing the look that comes across his face, Noja reaches over and rests his hand on the fawn's head so that his fingers just barely brush Quinn's splint. "Why would we leave someone in a position of power who has no interest in the safety and wellbeing of her people? If she'll do this to her own son, what will she do to an omega on the street? If we can build a strong enough case, she'll be charged; either way, we take her to court with what we have. But testimony from someone who's life she's had direct, negative influences on will help us drive home what kind of Alpha she actually is."

"You want her out of office." Shaking his head, Quinn huffs out a hollow laugh. "Man, what the fuck?" He tugs on the transmitter box, clenching his teeth at the memory of his first few nights, and the searing pain that accompanied his attempts to escape. "Why put this on me, then?"

"Had I not, you'd have been long gone by now. Or possibly dead. There's also the chance we would have found you before you got too far. Imagine what would have happened, then. I've told you before, Quinn. Your actions have consequences."

He's got a point, but that doesn't mean Quinn has to like it. "So take it off now," he challenges, staring Noja down and tugging on the collar. "It's the middle of fuckin' winter. There's over a foot of snow on the ground. Even if I wanted to run, where am I gonna go?"

"Do you trust me, Quinn?" Tilting his head, Noja smiles like he already knows the answer, but Quinn can't snap out his gut reaction of _ Not a fuckin' chance. _ He opens his mouth and pauses, then looks away with a growl, hunching his shoulders and petting the fawn to calm himself down.

"When did you say she was born?" he grumbles, because it's safer than trying to force an answer that doesn't want to form. He doesn't trust Noja -- he _ doesn't _ \-- but for whatever reason, he can't bring himself to say it.

"Considering her size and coat, I'm guessing she was born in June. It's a bit late in the season, but it happens." Noja lets him deflect without commenting, leaning back in his chair and watching Quinn with an emotion he's not entirely sure how to name. It makes his skin feel uncomfortably warm, sending prickles across his cheeks; he rubs his face against his shoulder, trying to wipe them away even though he knows it doesn't work like that.

"I'm gonna call her Junebug," he decides, leaning down and pressing his nose into her thick, musky fur. It tickles his cheek, and it's not exactly soft, but it's not coarse and bristly either. He closes his eyes, letting himself be moved by the steady rise and fall of her chest.

"Quinn," Noja says quietly; he can hear the bear move, and feels something brush the tips of his hair. "I know that this has been hard on you. I know it's not going to get any easier any time soon, for a multitude of reasons. And I know that I have no right to ask you for anything, after what you've already been through. You don't have to trust me; I don't expect you to."

"Not today," Quinn mutters, glancing up at Noja through the barrier of his bangs. He's already filled his stress quota for the day; he's not ready to let himself crack that far. "Just… Give me time. I'm not good at talkin' about personal shit, so don't expect much, but I'll try."

"Whatever you're willing to share, Quinn." The bear reaches toward him, and for a second, Quinn thinks that Noja is about to _ pet _ him. He tenses, torn between growling and flinching away, but the Alpha's hand lands between the fawn's shoulder blades, his fingers digging into her fur to scratch lightly.

"So, Junebug?" He sounds amused, but not patronizing.

"It fits." Snapping his teeth without malice, Quinn shifts to rest his head further down her side, curling himself into a position that isn't entirely comfortable to make sure he doesn't jostle her too much. She's still pretty out of it thanks to the sedation, though it's probably helping her sleep more than anything at this point. Who knows how long she was running before she thought it was safe enough to find her mother again. Her injury is a few days old, at least; it must have been so painful to try and sleep with the cold and the snow.

"M'not gonna let anything else happen to you, Junebug," he mumbles against her flank, nuzzling closer to her warmth and closing his eyes. He feels one of her little hooves kick lightly at his chest, more of a random twitch than anything else. He knows Noja is still petting her, but the man's closeness isn't bothering him as much as usual right now; probably because his attention isn't focused on Quinn right now, which is good.

At least, he thought it wasn't. "Christmas is coming up in less than two weeks," Noja comments. Quinn opens his eyes and stares at the man's hand, which is resting lightly over Junebug's ribcage.

"What the fuck," he grunts. "Is it really?" He can hardly keep track of what day of the week it is, never mind what day of the month. He knows he's been in the cabin for close to a month, he just hadn't thought about that time frame involving Christmas. He and Tabby were never really big on celebrating the day -- they'd spend all month buying each other little gifts and giving them to each other at random. They're not particularly religious, and they haven't had a proper Christmas since their father died, so they decided to make their own tradition.

"It is. Was there anything in particular you would like?"

"I suppose asking for my freedom is out of the question?" He means for it to come out dripping with bitter sarcasm, but his voice betrays him. It cracks and splinters the words into something close to anguished, coming out thick and rough; his eyes burn with the threat of tears he knows won't actually fall, but he still tucks his head against Junebug's side to hide his face and breathe.

"One day," Noja says quietly. He feels the lightest brush of fingers over his hair again, so quick he can pretend it's the wind even though he's not outside. "Once everything is figured out, and your safety is assured, I promise you will have your freedom. You, and your sister. Neither of you will ever have to worry again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Noja." Sitting up, Quinn rubs at his face roughly and sighs. What could he ask for that would even come close to the life Noja is promising? He's aching to see Tabby -- her absence is a raw hole in his chest. Hearing her voice helps a little, but it's nowhere close to the same as having her in front of him. He knows better than to ask for that though; she has no idea what their mother has done, and she doesn't need to know. Tappik won't tell her, either; Quinn has made sure of that.

The only thing he can think of is the lake. What does it look like in the winter? He can see it from the deck, but he hasn't tried trudging his way through the snow to see it up close. Has the deer herd come back since the last time he saw them there? Is Junebug from that herd? What does the rest of the forest look like, untouched by everything but the animals who consider it their home? His fingers itch to capture all of it through the lense of his camera, but he doesn't have it.

"How about a camera?" Meeting Noja's curious gaze, he shrugs and quickly looks away again. "It's the only thing I can think of. I miss taking pictures. Nevermind, it's stupid."

The bear chuffs quietly. "It's not stupid at all, Quinn. Photography is a wonderful skill. There's so many things you can do with it."

"It's stupid. It's not like I have anything to trade for it. And I'm not a kid anymore; I don't need some jolly fat dude bringing me presents."

"Are you implying that I'm fat?" Noja pulls an overexaggerated look of indignation, crossing his arms with a grumble, and Quinn barks out a rough laugh before he can stop himself.

"You said it, not me." Standing, he stretches until his back cracks, groaning in relief afterwards. Junebug lifts her head, blinking tiredly up at him, and Quinn can understand the sentiment. The sun has long since set, and even though his day wasn't particularly busy, he still feels exhausted and wrung out.

"If you're worried about a fair trade, I'll happily take a picture." The Alpha Dom stands and mirrors him, cracking his own back with a sigh. "You don't owe me anything though, Quinn. It's not much, in the grand scheme of things, but I'd like to do something for you. If this will bring you even a small measure of happiness, it's more than worth it."

Quinn shakes his head in disbelief. "Has anyone told you that you're fuckin' _ weird?" _

This time, it's Noja's turn to laugh. "I believe you have, once or twice." He grins at Quinn, warm and bright. "Will you do me a favor and watch Junebug for a moment while I get her bedding set up? I've got to get the pen out of my closet."

"Why do you need a pen?" Reaching for the bag of pellets, he drags it closer and picks at the tab until he can tear it free. The thread unravels quickly, filling his nose with the strange scent of the pellets as the bag opens. Junebug perks up, her ears and nose twitching. When Quinn offers her a handful, she doesn't hesitate to bury her nose into his cupped palm.

"I don't want her moving around too much for a few days. She needs to rest her leg and heal. It's just a temporary thing, don't worry. Once I know she won't rip her stitches open, I'll let her roam more. She's doing remarkably well right now, but it's still going to take time for her to adjust to things."

Junebug's tongue tickles when she drags it across his hand and wrist in her search for more food. Quinn waves the bear away with a grunt, ignoring Noja in favor of offering the fawn another handful of pellets. He croons to her while she eats, something blooming warmly in his chest as she does so without hesitation. "You're so good," he murmurs, petting her with his free hand and being careful not to catch his splint in her fur.

"Don't you worry, little Junebug. You'll be good as new in no time. Just promise you won't forget me once you're back with your family, okay?"

He looks up, startled when he sees Noja standing there with the folded up pen; he hadn't even heard the man coming back.

"Oh, Quinn," he murmurs, and something about his expression makes Quinn's stomach twist and flutter with that feeling that he still isn't sure how to name.

"No one could ever forget you, Quintus," Noja says, his smile so _ tender _ that Quinn feels his skin prickle.

"Because I'm such an ass?" he rasps, trying to break the mood that's settled over them like a warm, heavy blanket.

"No, _ chispa," _ the Alpha Dom murmurs, his eyes glowing. _ Chispa _ sounds familiar, but Quinn can't remember where he's heard it before, and he can't focus enough to try, not with Noja's rumbling words reverberating all the way down to his core.

"It's because you're _ you." _


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so distracted by anime. Also, what is sleep? Lol
> 
> Hope y'all had a happy new year's Eve/day! Welcome to 2020!

Something has changed. Quinn doesn't know exactly what it is, or how to describe it, but something is different. He knows the change is in him, and he's not entirely sure he likes it; he's been this way for so long, that anything else is foreign and unwelcome. Change is not something Quinn strives to achieve, because he's never felt the need for it before. He is who he is, and there's never been a need to be any different, because being this way has kept him safe.

_ No one can change you but you, and you have to _ want _ to change. _ He's heard that saying more times than he can count from more people than he cares to remember. Tutors, teachers, his _ mother; _ all of them tried to force him to be delicate, but Quinn has never been that type of creature. Even before his father died, he was never _ delicate. _ He may have smiled more, and he trusted a little easier, but he's always been made of sharp edges and gleaming shards. As far back as he can remember, the feral was always there, brewing under the surface. Losing his father just broke the lock keeping it contained, and then it had nowhere to go but out.

Coyotes are typically pack creatures. They're playful and mischievous, but they're also strong and curious by nature. They're wary until they're comfortable, and fearless to a fault. Coyote-kin share a lot of characteristics with their animal and shifter ancestors, same as any of the kin, but those like Quinn seem more prone to the animalistic side than the human. He's feral, borderline rabid, and that's never been an issue for him as much as it has been for others. He never needed anyone but Tabby to make him happy -- everyone else could fuck off, as far as he cared. He didn't need their approval, nor did he want their advice on how to be a kinder, more wholesome person.

Something is _ changing _ in him, though, without his conscious effort, and it's leaving him off-kilter and scrambling to try and make sense of it. It's been a slow shift, almost glacial, but he's _ noticing _ it now, and now he can't stop thinking about it. It's an itch across his skin, like a poison ivy rash; itching and burning and driving him mad, but he can't get it to go away no matter what he tries.

It's Noja's fault, he knows that much. Whatever is happening to him, it's the goddamn Alpha Dom's doing, but the biggest problem with having that thought is that Noja isn't actually _ doing _ anything. He's kind, and courteous, and he's never once told Quinn he had to be anyone other than who he is. _ Actions have consequences, _ that's all he's really said about it, but even his consequences are nothing like what Quinn imagined they would be, when he was dragged here for a reconditioning that hasn't even happened. At least, it hasn't happened the way he expected it to; the most he can admit is that there's something _ different, _ and it's Noja's fault.

"Quinn?"

Looking up from his brand new camera, Quinn blinks at the man in question. Noja looks concerned, which means he's got a weird expression on his own face, but honestly, Quinn wasn't expecting this. He wasn't expecting _ anything, _ when the bear asked him what he wanted for Christmas. He definitely wasn't expecting to receive a top-of-the-line camera with all the bells and whistles; different sizes of lenses, at least six SD cards -- even several packs of glossy picture paper, if he wants to develop or print anything out. He's holding thousands of dollars worth of equipment in his hands and on his lap, and he has no idea what to say.

His silence seems to make Noja even more concerned, his massive shoulders drooping the longer Quinn goes without saying anything. "Is it not what you wanted?" he asks quietly. "I've never used a professional camera before, so I went with what the reviews recommended. If there was one you'd rather have, I can get you that instead."

"What?" Quinn sputters, looking sharply at the man. "The hell? _ No. _ Are you insane? This is _ seven thousand dollars _ worth of equipment. What the hell were you _ thinking?" _

It's Noja's turn to blink, looking caught off guard and uncertain in a way Quinn has never seen before. It's not a good look for him; it doesn't fit with his usual expressions or his gentle, laid-back nature.

"You asked for a camera," he says, frowning down at the Canon Quinn is clutching just shy of too tight. "I don't really know much about them, but I wanted to get you one that would suit your needs, and the reviews said that one was one of the best."

"It is," Quinn admits, stroking a finger down the sleek, smooth side of the camera. "That doesn't explain why the hell you would spend so much money. Seven _ thousand _ dollars?" Even his camera at home didn't cost that much; he got it second-hand with a single lense. It was a little worn, but it suited his needs just fine. This, though… This is an indulgence he'd never even considered, much less dreamed of. And Noja handed it to him without hesitation, smiling like it meant nothing to him.

"What are you expecting in return for this?" There has to be a catch. No one just gives something so expensive to someone who may as well be a complete stranger without expecting some heavy compensation.

Noja sits on the couch, careful not to disturb Junebug from her nap. The fawn has been eating and sleeping a lot throughout the past week -- all part of the healing process, Noja had said. She's starting to become a little more playful, but they can't let her get too rambunctious until her leg is healed. She's been keeping Quinn busy in the best way, giving him something to do to fill the hours of the day. He loves feeding her and keeping her distracted from her bandages; the only thing he doesn't do is change them. Noja knows more about that than he does, though the Alpha has been more than willing to explain what he's doing.

"I told you, I would love a few pictures if you were willing to part with them," he says, petting Junebug to settle her when she stirs.

"Bullshit," Quinn grunts, eyeing the bear. "Seven thousand dollars, and all you want is a few photographs? Don't fuck with me, Noja."

Rather than getting angry or offended, Noja just looks at him, his whiskey-colored eyes shining in the bright sunlight that spills through the house, filling it to the brim and chasing away the shadows. "Listen, Quinn," he rumbles quietly, taking a slow, deep breath. "Listen to my heartbeat. Tell me if I lie."

He's not. He's fucking not, and that just confuses Quinn even further. Who the hell does something like this? No one. No one does something for nothing -- that's not how the world works. A few photographs of nature does not offset _ seven thousand dollars, _ but Noja just smiles at him, serene and unconcerned. Quinn feels that strange flutter in his chest again, like air has escaped from his lungs and wound around his heart and through his ribs. It's not entirely uncomfortable, but it is unpleasant, mostly because it's such a foreign feeling.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're fuckin' _ weird?" _ he asks, playing with the camera's strap.

Noja laughs, light and cheerful. "Once or twice," he admits. "Are you going to go out and get a feel for that?" He motions toward the camera, and Quinn looks at it, chewing his lip in thought.

"Yeah," he decides, setting it carefully on the coffee table. It has its own bag to store everything in; there's even pouches for spare batteries. "Eat lunch without me; I don't know when I'll be back."

The Alpha nods. "Don't get lost. Junebug will miss you."

Quinn snorts, standing and arching his back until it cracks. He hurries to his room, excitement quickening his steps; he's still not entirely convinced that Noja has done this with no expectation of anything in return, but for now, he's not going to question it further. He's been itching to take pictures of the forest for _ weeks _ now, even bare and snow-covered as it is so deep into winter. Throwing on a few extra layers, he rushes back to grab the camera, making sure everything is packed away carefully. He loops the strap across his chest and pulls his coat on to help keep it protected; jams his feet into his boots and fumbles through tying the laces in his haste to get out the door.

"Quinn, wait." Noja stops him with a hand on his shoulder, holding up a pair of gloves in explanation before Quinn can snap at him. "I know you're going to take them off to take pictures, but please wear them when you aren't."

Letting his growl die in his throat, Quinn nods and pulls the gloves on. They're thick and warm, and surprisingly soft on the inside. The rabbit fur lining tickles against his wrists; it feels odd against the right one without the splint to keep it from touching his skin. He still wraps his wrist at night, but so long as he's careful with it during the day, it hasn't been too bad.

"Thanks," he mutters, ignoring Noja's wide grin. Before he can bolt, the man wraps a scarf around his neck, making sure to cover his mouth. This time, he does growl, annoyed by the bear's fretting. "Seriously?"

"It's colder than you think," is all Noja says, pulling a hat down over Quinn's ears. He shoves the man away, barking to show his irritation, but the bear is still just _ smiling _ at him, fond and unconcerned when he snaps his teeth.

"Have fun, Quinn."

Chuffing, he escapes before the Alpha can try and bundle him up any more than he already has, taking the stairs carefully and jogging toward the treeline as soon as his boots hit the yard. Snow crunches loudly, the top layer frozen and remelted into a thin sheet of ice that sparkles when the light hits it. It _ is _ colder than he thought it would be, the bitter wind stinging his cheeks, but it feels so good to be outside again that Quinn grins. Moving will help keep him warm; his breath puffs in white clouds around his head that the wind steals eagerly.

The sun shines through the bare branches creaking overhead, glittering when it reflects off the ice that covers everything. Quinn toys with the idea of taking a few pictures right away, but he's still so close to the house, and he knows he'll find plenty of good shots farther in. He's eager to get to the lake and see what it looks like; determined to test out the Canon and all of its lenses to see what kind of shots he can get. If he can stand being out in the cold long enough to take sunset shots, he definitely wants to try; the setting sun usually turns the lake to fire, and he wants to watch the transformation from the shore for once, rather than the deck.

With the snow lying so thick on the ground, he's far from quiet. He'll probably have to resign himself to just terrain shots like this; no animal is going to hang around with him crunching his way deeper into the woods. He goes until he hears the warning beep, baring his teeth in annoyance and turning toward the lake. If he didn't have the stupid fucking collar to deal with, he could go as far as he wanted and take so many more pictures. As it is, he keeps the border in mind, careful not to skirt too close as he winds his way through the trees. In some ways, the snow makes it a lot easier to travel, flattening the underbrush and keeping the bramble bushes tamed. So long as he doesn't trip over larger rocks, he's fine.

It takes longer to reach the lake, and his legs are beginning to burn from forcing his way through the deeper snow banks, but as soon as it comes into view, glittering through the trunks, he yanks his gloves off and stuffs them in the pocket of his coat, pushing it open and hurrying to pull his camera out. He goes through the tedious process of getting an SD card and the batteries in; fits an empty film cartridge in place, using his body to shield it from the sun. This really is one of the latest models, giving him the option to save his pictures in multiple ways in case something should happen. Grinning, his breaths coming faster as his excitement grows, Quinn turns the camera on and eagerly clicks his way through all the settings, memorizing them with the speed and skill of someone already settled in their craft.

As soon as the screen switches to picture mode, Quinn brings it up and takes his first shot of the lake through the trees, crouching low to change the angle of the light. He catches the way it glitters across the snow; the texture of the trees and the thick band of gleaming yellow-white across the surface of the water, cutting through the rippling blue. It's almost euphoric, in a way, his joy a deep and radiating feeling. It's such a simple hobby, compared to other things he enjoys, but the pleasure of immortalizing something beautiful in a split-second shutter click makes him smile so wide his cheeks hurt. Looking up, he flicks to a monochrome filter and catches the bare, ice-coated branches above him swaying in the breeze, taking another shot in color for the full effect.

Stopping right in front of the closest trunk, he angles himself to keep his shadow out of the picture, catching the dips and divots of the bark. There's thin rivulets of ice, as though it had begun to melt, only to be frozen again once the sun set. Leaning in closer, he takes pictures from different angles, eyeing each one on his screen with a thoughtful, critical eye before moving onto the next. He rests his chest against the trunk, the sides of his hands bracing against the roughsmoothcold surface so he can take a picture directly up the tree, catching the glitter of the ice and the roughness of the bark, and the way the light shines through the branches above him.

Practically giggling, Quinn makes his way out of the forest, turning to catch a quick shot of the treeline to show how far it goes, and the way the snow piles up against the trunks before thinning as it reaches the water. Sitting with no regard for the cold, he takes a few pictures of the lake from his vantage point before shuffling forward on his knees.

At the bank, Quinn unhooks the camera pouch and lays down on his stomach, propping himself up a little on his elbows to keep snow from going down his collar. The wind isn't particularly rough today, but it's enough to make little waves and crests that ripple and foam, distorting the surface. The shallows are partially frozen, a three foot wide ring circling the lake; here and there, Quinn can see holes where something must have battered its way through to get to the water.

Finding his long-distance lense, Quinn fits it in place and looks down it to see how far it reaches. The far bank is so much more visible now, and his breath catches when he sees a fox drinking from a hole it's created in the shallows, the sunlight highlighting the rich russet-red of its thick fur coat. Zooming in a little farther, he grins and takes multiple pictures, shifting in minute ways to change the angle and the lighting; catching the tremble of its whiskers and the honey-amber gleam of its eyes when it lifts its head and licks its lips. He even catches the droplets of water still clinging to its muzzle and the curve of its tongue. When it turns back toward the trees, he can't resist catching a shot of it leaving, its thick tail swaying as it walks away from him.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Quinn sits up and grins down at the screen, his fingers trembling from excitement and the cold as he quickly flips through the library of shots he's taken so far. He hadn't realized how much he's _ missed _ being able to do this, and this camera is leagues ahead of his other one. There's a world of possibilities laid out before him now, and he intends to explore every single one before the cold forces him back home.

He hesitates on the picture of the fox licking water from its whiskers, its gaze sweeping out across the lake. Its eyes are bright and wild, its throat shockingly white compared to its dark legs. He's managed to catch the wind ruffling its fur, capturing its elegance and feral grace as it stood with its head raised high and proud.

_ Noja would like this one, _ he thinks, frowning thoughtfully down at the screen. It seems exactly like the kind of image the Alpha would appreciate, and he did ask for pictures.

"Tch." Scoffing at himself, Quinn changes to a high-resolution lense, carefully fitting the other one back in its place before he stands. It should bother him, that Noja was the first one he thought of. Tabby should have been his first thought, because she's always been the one to see his work before anyone else. The damn bear has gotten under his skin too much, worming through the cracks and curling up in the empty place within Quinn's chest. He doesn't know when it happened, or how, and he doesn't like it. It speaks of a loss of control, it makes him _ soft, _ and that is something that Quinn has never been. He won't allow himself to become weak.

Gritting his teeth, he works his way around the lake, taking photographs of whatever catches his eye. The entire time, thoughts of the Alpha lurk along the edges of his mind, warm and foreign.

It figures. Even when he's away from the house, he can't shake the man's presence. It wraps around him like a thick blanket, leaving him torn between cold, cutting anger and a comfort he has no idea how to name.

_ Damn it, Noja. What the hell have you done to me? _

\---

The sun hasn't started setting yet, but Quinn is far too cold to keep going. His hands hurt, his fingers refuse to bend anymore, and he worries about damaging his camera if he stays out too much longer. He's taken well over a hundred pictures, and he already knows which ones are his favorites, as well as a few he wants to play around with and alter some time down the line. The lake isn't going anywhere; there's always another day.

Pulling his gloves back on, he makes sure his pouch is safely tucked against his hip, zipping his coat closed to keep out the cold as he starts making his way back to the house. He's lost himself in hours of photography, but it hasn't helped him figure out his own mind in the slightest. Still, he feels better than he did when he left the house, his excitement still crackling and humming like a storm beneath his skin. He can't stop thinking of the fox, or the series of pictures he got of a hawk catching a rabbit along the bank when it crept out for a drink. He hadn't even seen the red-tail circling until it dropped like a stone, and then it was instinct to just point his camera and shoot.

Following his own trail is easy, and it might just be his imagination, but it seems to take less time to find his way back than it did to come out in the first place. Quinn isn't ready to return, his head is still too skewed by things he doesn't understand, but it's too cold to keep going, and it's only getting colder.

Sighing, he squeezes between two trees to avoid a thick bramble bush, resting a protective hand against his camera bag to keep it from knocking against the trunk. Almost immediately, his foot catches against a rock and he stumbles, hissing in pain when he instinctively catches himself with his right hand. His bones have healed well, but everything is still tender and fragile, and his wrist was already aching from hours of holding his camera in more than one weird position. It's not the searing pain that it was, but he knows he still needs to be careful with it. Maybe he'll put the brace on once he's home, rather than waiting until tonight. A little extra support never hurt anything.

Quinn is so lost in thought that he doesn't hear the voices at first. They get louder the closer he gets to the cabin, until there's no way for him to miss them, and he tenses, his eyes wide. He's close enough to see the cabin through the trees now, but not to see whoever it is; he recognizes Noja's deeper rumble, the bear's voice shivering across his skin and making his chest throb. The other voice is higher, and louder -- not yelling, but not nearly as deep as Noja's rougher baritone.

Stepping as quietly as he can, Quinn creeps through the trees, keeping to his own tracks to avoid making more sound than necessary. The wind blows harshly against his cheeks, coming from the direction of the cabin; he opens his mouth, tasting musk and spice and pine. Lavender and plum follow next, light and sweet, but not quite enough to block out the musky undercurrent of Alpha.

_ Son of a _ ** _bitch_**_. _

Quinn can see them now, but they don't know he's watching; he blends into the shadows, peering around a thick trunk and narrowing his eyes as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Noja is standing at the top of the stairs, his feet planted shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed. He's smiling, and he looks relaxed, but Quinn can see how straight his spine is, and the tense line his shoulders make. Even his smile isn't quite right. It looks friendly enough, but Quinn can see a hint of a canine while he talks. His eyes are hooded and dark.

"You keep saying he's not here," Eleanor Park says, her voice tight and barely controlled despite her calm expression. Quinn bares his fangs, feeling the tips of his canines dig into his bottom lip. "In the last update you sent me, you told me that Quintus was still being punished, and yet he is allowed to speak to his sister on the phone. He cannot contact Tabitha, Alpha Noja. He will tell her everything."

"I monitor every phone call, and they never speak for long," Noja says calmly. Between the two of them, he looks far more relaxed, but there's something about his eyes. They don't look any different than usual, but they send an anxious shiver through Quinn, and it hits him like a bolt of lightning, stealing his breath in a silent gasp.

Noja is _ livid. _ It hasn't bled over into his scent at all, but he's furious.

As quietly as possible, Quinn pulls his coat up to get to his camera, holding the strap carefully in his teeth while he grabs the lense he'll need. Screwing it into place, he turns the camera on and raises it, aiming it at Noja's face.

"He cannot be allowed to contact Tabitha, Alpha Noja," mayor Park says again with more force. "That defeats the purpose of reconditioning."

"It is my choice to reward his behavior how I see fit," Noja rumbles. "If he cannot contact his sister at all, that looks far more suspicious than short, sporadic phone calls that I monitor."

"Why is Quintus in the woods?" His mother shifts, crossing her arms. She has nowhere near the size or presence of Noja, but she's still a powerful Alpha in her own right. Her scent fluctuates with her emotions, her control a pitiful thing compared to the Alpha Dom staring down at her.

Quinn curls his lip in disdain, taking a few pictures of her to capture her body language. Between the two of them, she looks far more combative, leaning forward in a display of posturing despite the fact that Noja clearly has the high ground.

"He asked to go exploring. His behavior has been acceptable over these last few days. I saw no reason to deny his request." Noja's words are curt, his sentences sharp. "I do not know when he will return, Alpha Mayor Park."

"May I come in and wait for him? It's far too cold to stay outside." As if to prove herself, the mayor shivers and pulls her collar tighter around her neck.

"I do not believe that would be wise," Noja says, leaning against the railing mount. Quinn can't help but imagine a forest deity lounging before his subject, watching coolly as they sputter and trip over themselves.

"I am his mother. I have a right to see him."

The Alpha Dom tilts his head, staring down at her. Quinn takes a picture of his face, seeing the way his bronze pupils glow and flash as the mayor continues to argue her case.

"You should have called ahead of time. I would have made preparations for your visit. Not to mention, the roads would have been much easier to traverse."

"My car can handle it. I have tried many times to come and see Quintus. Each time, you have told me no. You refuse to send me videos, and the pictures you do send come sporadically. I have only your word, and I am beginning to think that your word is not good enough, Alpha Noja."

"Careful, Alpha Park." Noja doesn't move, only sighs, and suddenly, Quinn can't breathe. Even from across the yard, the man's pheromones crush his chest and steal his breath when he relaxes his ironclad control over them. It's all he can do to stay upright, clutching his camera to his chest with one hand and wrapping his other arm around the tree trunk. His knees tremble, his instincts whining for him to prostrate himself, but Quinn refuses. He locks his jaw, struggling to pull air into his lungs, and watches his mother stumble against the side of the house.

Noja sighs again, and suddenly his pheromones are gone, locked down tight once more. Quinn gasps raggedly, fumbling to put his camera away while the man speaks again.

"I do not need to remind you that it is highly offensive for an Alpha to come on to another Alpha's territory without permission, much less to accuse them of what you are implying to me." Noja takes one step down the stairs, and then another. "You hired me to do a job. You gave me impunity to do it my way, and now you disrespect my simple requests." Two more steps. Quinn's mother watches him warily, still trying to catch her breath. She's leaning against the house for support, a hand pressed to her chest; she looks more vulnerable than Quinn has ever seen her.

"Quintus, come."

Noja doesn't raise his voice, but Quinn hears him and goes tense. How did the Alpha Dom know he was back? He'd been so quiet. Even his mother looks surprised and uncertain, turning toward the forest and scanning the trees. Noja doesn't look away from her, his eyes still hooded and crackling with danger.

Taking a shaky breath, Quinn creeps from his hiding place, keeping his head ducked so Eleanor doesn't see his face. To her, he'll look submissive and cowed, his shoulders hunched and his hands relaxed at his sides. He hurries across the yard, skirting around her without a word and taking the stairs until he's directly in front of Noja.

"Yes, Alpha?" He looks up from beneath the edge of his hood, glaring at the bear because he knows his mother can't see it. He understands what's happening here, and he'll play along, but he doesn't have to like it.

"Now, Quintus, where are those manners I know you have?" Strong fingers slip under his chin, lifting his head the rest of the way and then more, until his hood falls back and his throat is bared, covered only by his scarf and the collar of his coat. "We have a guest, Quintus. Say hello to her." Noja's eyes burn into him, his mask flawless, but Quinn can feel remorse in the thumb that rubs circles under the hinge of his jaw. He shivers, swallowing thickly, and Noja watches it all.

Turning, he faces the mayor, his eyes lowered and averted in deference. "Hello, Alpha Park," he murmurs softly, tasting sour ash on his tongue.

Eleanor smiles. "Hello, Quintus. I'm pleased to see you've begun to remember your manners." Her face is still pale, but she's standing on her own again, her arms folded behind her back. "I trust you will remember them once you are home."

There's only so much he's willing to put up with, and their act needs to have flaws anyway, so Quinn meets her gaze and curls his upper lip to show his canines. "Guess it depends, doesn't it?" he grunts.

Noja reacts accordingly, scruffing him hard enough that Quinn whines, the Alpha Dom's finger pressing just behind his e-gland. When Noja shakes him roughly, he yelps in pain, reaching back to try and get free.

"I warned you, Quintus," Noja growls, turning to the side and shoving him up the stairs. Quinn nearly falls against them, twisting himself so he'll land on the opposite hip and keep his camera safe. It hurts, but not as much as it could have; he takes a moment to breathe, looking back over his shoulder at them.

"Sorry," he says with absolutely no remorse, and his quick reflexes get him out of the way before Noja can punch him in the thigh.

"Go," the bear growls. "Kneel by the couch. Wait for me. I will decide a fitting punishment for you. Defy me, and your punishment will be threefold."

Taking the out, Quinn bolts up the stairs and into the house, shutting the door behind him harder than necessary to add to the performance. He yanks his coat off and sets his camera on the counter; unties his boots and kicks them off by the coat rack before padding over to the couch. Junebug watches from her pen, bleating uncertainly; he coos softly to soothe her, smiling when her ears flap -- there's no other way for him to describe it. He can still hear Noja speaking to his mother as he kneels beside the couch, laying his head on the armrest and yawning.

After a few minutes, he hears a car door open and close from the end of the driveway, and then sound of an engine starting. A moment later, the door slides open and Noja steps inside, his eyes still dark. He stares at Quinn as he removes his boots and coat. Quinn watches him right back, standing and crossing his arms.

"Nice show," he says, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Don't think I'm ready for a repeat performance, though. How'd you even know I was there?"

"I sensed you." Noja sighs, rubbing his face. "I knew it was only a matter of time before this happened. Thankfully, I believe our little act was enough to sate her for the time being."

"You _ sensed _ me?" Scowling, Quinn shakes his head. "What the fuck does that even mean? How the hell didn't she figure out I was there, then, if you knew?"

"Her senses aren't as good as mine," the bear replies simply. He detours to pet Junebug's head on his way to the living room, smiling down at her when she nibbles on his shirt. "I heard you coming. I knew when you realized someone was here, and you tried to move quietly. Did you get good pictures?"

"Guess we'll find out," Quinn mutters, sitting on the couch and sighing. "She's not gonna come back again, is she? If I have to fake that shit again, I'm gonna puke."

The cushions dip when Noja sits at the other end. He still smells wild, but his eyes are the color of whiskey again. It's an intriguing scent, one that sparks the feeling in Quinn's chest; he inhales quietly, his nostrils flaring.

"She won't come back unless I invite her first. She acted impulsively; she assumed I could be persuaded or intimidated because others are so quick to listen and fall in line. However, she came onto my territory unannounced, and she is the one who postured. She has made a fool out of herself, and she knows it. I believe she has learned her lesson. More than that, she got a taste of what she wanted to see. She has no reason to come back."

Noja pulls a recording device out of his pocket and sets it on the coffee table. Quinn stares at it, realizing immediately what it means.

"How did you know it was her?"

"Dwayne's truck has a louder engine, and the door squeaks. He's the only one who visits me, and he always calls ahead of time. She's the only other one who knows where I live."

"Bitch," Quinn grumbles, curling up and laying his head on the back of the couch. He shuts his eyes, and sure enough, he feels the lightest brush of fingers against the tips of his hair.

"You did very well, Quinn. Thank you."

He likes it a lot more when Noja calls him Quinn. _ Quintus _ just doesn't sound right coming from the bear. "Don't expect a repeat performance," he mutters, cracking open an eye to look at the man. Noja is already watching him with a smile.

"Did you have fun with your camera?" he asks, his voice rich and low, dripping heavily with something Quinn doesn't know how to identify. It smolders in his chest, feeling hot enough to burn, and he opens his mouth to breathe out, expecting to see steam.

"Yeah," he whispers, his voice oddly strained.

"May I see them?" Noja's eyes are like molten amber, swirling and shining with things Quinn can't discern.

Swallowing, Quinn nods and unfolds himself from the ball he's curled into with another quiet, "Yeah." He goes to his camera, feeling shaky and uncoordinated. Is it remnants from when Noja let out his pheromones? Is it the shock of his mother's sudden, unexpected visit? Quinn can't tell, and he doesn't like it. He feels like he's two steps away from something, but he can't see what it is.

Handing Noja the camera, he flinches away when their fingers brush, growling quietly with no real target. "M'gonna go shower and get warm," he mutters gruffly, heading for the hallway before Noja can try and stop him -- as if he even would.

"Of course," the bear says, watching him go. "Oh, and Quinn?"

Hesitating in the doorway, he looks back at the Alpha and frowns. "What?"

Noja's eyes burn through him again, and Quinn is torn between snapping at him to knock it the fuck off, or stepping out of sight to be free of that penetrating stare. The man rumbles after a moment, deep and pleased.

"Thank you."

Unsure of what else to do, and not knowing what to say, Quinn nods tightly, turning away and heading for his room. His mind races, thoughts crashing together in a tsunami of confusion and suspicion and something _ else. _ It's that something he still doesn't know how to name, and he huffs out a frustrated breath as soon as his door is safely shut behind him; burying his head in his hands and groaning quietly.

_ What the fuck is happening to me? _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT HAVE I DONE?
> 
> Hahaha
> 
> ALSO: Trigger warning for a pretty rough panic attack

_ It's warm. It's so much warmer than it should be at this point of the year. It's late spring, summer ripe and ready to rupture just on the horizon, but it already feels like July. Quinn stretches, yawning so widely his jaw cracks. Junebug lifts her head, ears flicking toward him, before she goes back to grazing. _

_ Rolling onto his side, Quinn ignores the discomfort of laying on the hard deck in favor of soaking up the heat it retains. He's stripped down to a pair of basketball shorts, his skin already stinging faintly from being outside for so long, but he's so comfortable that he can't bring himself to move. _

_ "Well, isn't that a pretty sight." _

_ Cracking an eye open, he grumbles wordlessly at Timber. He hadn't even heard the man return from his hunt. With the grass so thick and green, it's muffled his footsteps easily, and the sporadic breeze carried his scent away from Quinn. _

_ "You think so?" he purrs, stretching again just to watch the way Timber's eyes darken as they follow the curve of his spine. He's got blood on his hands, but not much; leftover smears from cleaning and gutting whatever he found. Quinn rests his head on his bicep, watching with lazy satisfaction as his Alpha climbs the stairs to join him. He sits up once the bear is close enough, tilting his head into the hand that immediately rises to cup his cheek. _

"Chispa," _ Timber rumbles, his voice low and brimming with so _ much. _ Quinn hums, smirking crookedly. He turns his head enough to nip at the man's thumb, letting his tongue flick against the tip to soothe the sting. _

_ "Took you long enough to come back," he murmurs, and Timber's laugh is as deep and rich as his scent, his eyes glowing with a primal desire that makes Quinn want to bite again. He opens his mouth, sunlight glinting off his fangs, and the Alpha is quick to hook his thumb over Quinn's tongue, smearing blood and his own musky flavor across his taste buds. _

_ "What am I going to do with you, Quinn?" Timber wonders, pressing down to open his mouth further; a casual display of his strength that makes Quinn want to bite him even more, his blood pumping hotly through his veins. He feels hot enough to burn, his claws catching in the bear's shirt when he drags Timber down with him, over him, wrapping a leg around that thick, powerful waist as best he can and rolling them. _

_ Timber's laugh is like a spark that ignites his blood, his body so broad that Quinn feels a strain in his thighs already. It's a good feeling, a wild feeling, and he growls eagerly. Timber echoes him with another rumble, fingers twining through his tangled curls to pull him down into a kiss that is neither gentle nor sweet. Timber's tongue replaces his thumb, sweeping in with the intent to dominate, and Quinn bites at it just shy of too hard, shuddering when the fingers in his hair tighten and pull. His Alpha is laughing against his lips, bright and pleased; he sucks Quinn's tongue until he shivers, his body arching as he rolls his hips against the man's to feel the way Timber's cock slides along his own through their clothes. _

_ "Is that the best you can do?" he taunts, his mouth already feeling sore and oversensitive, sparks like veins of lightning dancing through him until the hairs on his arms stand on end and his pelvis throbs. _

_ "Oh, sweetheart," Timber rumbles, gripping his nape and dragging him back down. He breathes against Quinn's swollen lips, the Alpha's tongue curling just enough to catch against one of his fangs. _

_ "You have no idea." _

Quinn opens his eyes, blinking groggily. The dream sits like a brand beneath his skin, his sheets damp with sweat and his cock throbbing between his legs. Shoving his face into his pillow, he groans angrily, punching the mattress like that will do anything to help his current predicament.

Sexual dreams are not something Quinn is familiar with outside of his heats. He's never felt even remotely attracted to anyone, which is why he's nearly thirty years old and still a virgin in every way that counts. If an Alpha or a beta ever showed interest in him, he made sure they regretted it and never approached him again. Every single suitor his mother paraded him in front of left disappointed, or -- in one or two cases -- bloody.

The problem with this particular situation is that he's not being pursued. Noja hasn't made any kind of advance, and yet for the last week, Quinn has been having fucking wet dreams almost every single time he falls asleep. Even if he wakes up throughout the night, he just goes right back into another one as soon as he closes his eyes again.

"This is such _ bullshit," _ he snarls, his words thankfully muffled by his pillow. His cock is so hard it's starting to ache, and this dream wasn't even that sexual. They've been far worse in terms of content, but the result is nearly the same every single time. At least he didn't wake up covered in his own cum this time, but he's definitely dripping enough that his boxers are wet. They cling and chafe with every shift of his hips, pulling uncomfortably, so Quinn kicks free of his covers with a snarl and stalks into the bathroom.

Why the fuck is this happening? It's not like he even _ likes _ Noja. He tolerates the Alpha more than most others he's met, but that's it. They get along well enough despite Quinn's aggressive tendencies and his lingering suspicion that all of this is a trap. He knows there's some sort of feeling that twists in his chest when the Alpha Dom will do something specific, but it's definitely not love. It's not even lust. It's just _ something. _

Turning the hot water on, he ducks beneath the spray before it has a chance to heat up, gritting his teeth at how cold it is. He's hoping to use it to cut the warmth building between his legs, but even the frigid water doesn't do much to help him. No way in fuck is he about to jack off to thoughts of the Alpha, so Quinn scrubs every inch of himself until his skin is pink and nearly raw, using the pain to redirect his mind toward safer territory.

_ Like hell, _ he seethes, glaring at his cock as it softens. _ Like hell I'm letting something as stupid as my dick ruin shit. _

Shutting off the water, he shakes himself once he's out of the tub, splattering droplets everywhere with a surge of misplaced, bitter satisfaction. He towels himself dry with little care for his sensitive skin, keeping his own traitorous mind in line despite of -- and because of -- the dangerous thoughts that lurk along the edges of his subconscious.

Leaving his towel on its hook, Quinn stands naked in the center of his bedroom, rubbing his hips distractedly while he glares out the window. It's a beautiful morning, as though nature is trying her best to make up for his foul mood. It's the kind of day that makes him itch to grab his camera and disappear into the forest for hours, leaving everything unimportant behind.

Maybe he'll do that. He's only been out once since his mother's impromptu visit. Just the memory is enough to make him grind his teeth; her arrogance, her _ gall, _ her fucking air of self-entitlement that Noja crushed without even _ blinking-- _

Sucking in a deep breath, he punches it back out on a snarl and yanks on his clothes, ignoring the telling sound of seams popping and claws tearing through fabric as he wrestles his shirt into place. _ Get out of my goddamn head, Noja, _ he spits, the memory of his own hands on his hips warping until he smacks his side, ignoring the sting-ache in favor of the blissful blankness it brings.

"I'm losing my fuckin' mind," he grouses, his mood black and foul and in no hurry to be shoved aside. Noja must be used to it by now -- he's hardly been the most cooperative captive since being dragged out to this godforsaken cabin.

Stalking down the hallway, he pauses just before the door, glaring at the back of Noja's head. He's bent over, murmuring quietly to Junebug while he feeds her. He must really be whispering, if even Quinn can't make out words in the smooth, low rumble. It pisses him off even more, but he's quiet as he crosses the room toward the baking pan that's still steaming on the island.

"It hasn't been out long," Noja says without looking up. "Came out of the oven around the same time you came out of the shower."

Grunting, Quinn cuts himself a healthy portion, squinting down at the quiche. It's full of feta and chicken, bright red tomatoes adding a pretty splash of color alongside the dark green of cooked spinach.

"An Alpha that can cook," he grunts, the jab old and tinged with a bitterness he doesn't know how to name. It tastes fantastic, which only sours his mood further, but fuck if he's turning down a meal. He eats two servings, knowing that he'll need the energy for the hike he's planning on taking. He's heading toward the mountain today, determined to go as far as he can before the damn collar stops him.

"I know," Noja agrees, the usual cheer missing from his reply. When Quinn looks at him, the Alpha meets his gaze, his eyes shining with the beginnings of concern. Seeing it makes Quinn want to smash his plate across the man's face. He wants those kind whiskey eyes to turn bronze and _ angry. _ He's so sick of the compassion; he hates what it does to him, what it's turning him into. Emotions are fucking useless where Tabby isn't concerned. Quinn has never cared for anyone more than the bare minimum required, because they had something he needed. Tappik gave him fights, gave him victims. Trigger was just as ruthless as him, her eyes bright at the prospect of blood and victory. They're friends but not, a means to an end he needed to stay sane and keep Tabby happy.

Noja is the man who ripped him away from all of that. He took Quinn from his sister. He's _ nothing. _ He should be _ nothing, _ but he looks at Quinn like he _ matters _ and it makes him want to scream.

Quinn has never mattered to anyone but Tabby and their dead father. He hasn't once done anything to make Noja look at him like that. If it were pity, it would be easier, because he cannot _ stand _ the thought of anyone pitying him. That's not pity, though, that's _ care, _ and it makes him want to rip the grizzly's eyes out.

"I'm goin' out ta take shots," he growls around the tines of his fork, the metal clenched tightly between his teeth. Anger slurs his words, turning them choppy and rough. "Gonna be out all day."

"Take granola bars with you, in case you get hungry," Noja encourages, gently pushing Junebug's muzzle away when she snoops for fallen pellets between his legs.

_ Stop it. _

The Alpha stands, bringing the bowl he's been holding over to the sink. He gives Quinn space as he passes, but he can still smell his scent, deep woods and musk and spice, with a hint of pine that Quinn realizes is his. They've spent so much time around each other that their scents are rubbing off and mixing.

_ Fucking stop it. _

"Please be home in time for dinner." Noja's voice is soft, and coaxing. The way he says _ please _ is like a live jolt of electricity through Quinn's chest.

_ Stop it, god damn you. _

"Why?" he grates out roughly, refusing to move while Noja's at the sink washing Junebug's bowl. The fawn has followed him, her movements still a little clunky thanks to her bandaged leg, but better than they were. She lips at his pockets, bleating up at him, but he can't get his fingers to unclench from around the edges of his plate long enough to pet her.

The bear pauses, is hands covered in soapy water. He turns to look at Quinn, like he doesn't understand the question. His frown deepens the lines across his forehead. Sunlight turns his hair glossy and sleek.

_ I hate you so much. Stop looking at me like that. _

"So we can celebrate," he says, drying his hands and turning to face Quinn fully.

"Celebrate _ what?" _ Quinn spits.

The Alpha tilts his head toward the oven. Quinn looks, scowling when he sees the rising slope of a baking cake.

"The hell's that for?"

"Quinn," Noja murmurs. He twitches, feeling the need for violence bubbling to the surface. Whatever he has to do to get that look off Noja's face; that look of concern and confusion and _ care _ that makes him feel sick. He's been staring at Quinn like this for days, for _ weeks, _ care and gentle smiles and tender concern, and he can't _ take it anymore. _

_ Stop fucking looking at me like that. _

"It's your birthday."

Quinn hurls his plate at the wall, listening to it shatter over the sound of his heavy, ragged breaths. Junebug squeals, scrambling back and bolting toward her pen, but he can't bring himself to look at the fawn. His shoulders are a solid line of tension up by his ears, blood dripping from his knuckles; he's dug his claws into his palms, but he can't feel the pain.

"What the fuck," he hisses, "is your issue?"

"My issue?" Noja looks disgustingly calm, his hands resting on the counter on either side of his hips. He's wide open and relaxed, and Quinn hates him so much he could scream. "Quinn, what's wrong?"

_ "You're what's fucking wrong!" _Quinn screams, throwing his fork at the man's face and snarling when Noja ducks to avoid it. It clatters harmlessly off the backsplash and drops into the sink, and any other time, he might feel smug about that, but right now his eyes are burning and yellow. He feels his teeth shift and tastes blood; a bubble pops at the corner of his mouth when he growls, flicking droplets of red that make Noja's eyes darken.

"Quinn," he says quietly, one of his hands lifting like he's planning to reach out.

"What the fuck is your deal?" He feels like he can't breathe, his chest tight and his lungs aching sharply. "Stop looking at me like that! What the fuck do you want? You want me to play happy fuckin' family with you? Want me to pretend we're friends or somethin'?" He's shouting, but he can't bring himself to stop. He feels like he's overflowing, cracking wide open for everything to spill out, and he can't stop it even if he wanted to.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Noja?" he snarls, taking an unsteady step closer. The bear's eyes flash, bronze creeping through the whiskey until it touches white. His mouth is open, his chest expanding as he breathes in. He's massive and powerful, and silent, watching Quinn with his hand still raised a few inches off the counter.

_ What have you done to me? _

"Want me to give in? What me to hit the ground and worship you? Huh?" Quinn is spitting pink, foamy saliva with nearly every word, slamming his hand against the cabinet and leaving a bloody smear behind.

"Want me to bend over and lift my ass like a good little slu-"

When Noja finally moves, Quinn isn't ready. No one that large should be that fast, but Noja lives to defy all of Quinn's logic. He's across the kitchen between heartbeats, crushing Quinn to his chest; burying a hand in his hair to cup the back of his head, his nose just above Quinn's ear. "Breathe,_ chispa," _ he murmurs, his words rumbling soothingly. Quinn can feel the reverberations all the way down to his core, can feel the way they shake him and realizes belatedly how much he's already trembling. He punches the Alpha as hard as he can, which does nothing considering the angle and how close they are.

"Get the fuck off of me," he rasps, twisting his other hand into the pale tan thermal Noja is wearing and yanking with no real goal in mind. "Get off, get off, don't fuckin' touch me-"

_ "Breathe," _ Noja whispers, inhaling. He copies instinctively, his own breathing high and strangled. A ragged noise tears free from his throat, his eyes burning. He yanks harder at the man's shirt, making the noise again. Fingertips massage his scalp, never once dropping toward his e-gland.

"Quintus," the bear says quietly. "Quinn. I need you to breathe. In, nice and slow." He breathes in again, and Quinn grits his teeth, feeling like his lungs are shrinking rather than expanding. He shoves forward, his nose knocking against Noja's throat; sliding across his jugular until he's breathing that fucking scent in with every fast, shallow huff.

"In, nice and slow, Quinn." Again. He tries, his words gone. A thin tendril of air sneaks into his lungs, convincing them they need more, and he gasps; turns his head and coughs against the collar of Noja's shirt, his mouth wet.

"It's alright," Noja murmurs, stroking through his hair. "You've got it. With me, now. In nice and slow." They breathe together, Quinn's chest hitching when the air stutters in his throat. "Out nice and easy." Letting it out is easier, his lungs emptying too fast and making him sway. Noja holds him up, his words a constant, quiet anchor in Quinn's ears that he latches onto. He's got nothing else, his chest hollowed out and raw, everything else splattered like invisible viscera across the floor beneath them.

"God damn it," he rasps, his voice a ruined, strained groan. His jaw pulses, and he can feel where his fangs have torn his lip. His chest hurts like he's been stabbed. "God _ damn it." _

"Feel better?" Noja asks quietly, still rubbing the back of his head. Quinn refuses to open his eyes, his face still pressed against the side of the Alpha's throat. He can feel Noja's pulse thudding against his cheek, the beat strong and steady.

"Fuck you," Quinn hisses, his words as hollow as his voice.

"I will admit, it took you longer than I expected." The man's arm around his back relaxes, his palm too warm and too gentle against Quinn's spine.

"Fuck's that mean?" He tugs Noja's shirt just because, feeling the way it pulls against his hold and wondering why the Alpha doesn't try to stop him.

Noja chuckles against the top of his head. "You've been on edge since your mother showed up. Every day, you'd wake up a little more foul-tempered. I knew it was only a matter of time before the dam burst. You're very good at tearing yourself to ribbons, aren't you, Quinn?"

"I hate you." Quinn sighs roughly. "I scared Junebug," he adds, refusing to think about the way his voice wavers at the thought.

"She'll forgive you," Noja murmurs. "She loves you."

"Don't," he grits out, still too fragile, still too close to the edge to feel steady on his feet.

"It's alright, Quinn." The hand in his hair finally tickles its way down, his warm palm dragging over Quinn's ear as Noja leans back to look down at him. His eyes are still a swirling mixture of whiskey and bronze, his humanity and his feral nature balancing delicately for the moment. Who knows which way the wind can tip it, and Quinn shivers at the thought.

_ I hate what you do to me. _

"I broke a plate." It comes out numbly. "God damn it, why. What the fuck are you doing to me, you son of a bitch?" He fists both hands in Noja's shirt and yanks hard enough to hear the seams stretch and pop, knowing he's getting blood on the fabric and unable to feel remorse.

"It's alright," Noja promises, his hand unbearably warm against the side of Quinn's face. "It's alright, Quinn. Just breathe. It'll be alright."

"Why?" He's so tired all of the sudden, cracked wide open and empty. "What the hell have you done to me? Why the hell is this happening?"

It's the longest he's let anyone touch him who isn't Tabby, and he can't tell if it's because he's too tired to stand or that same, stupid _ something _ he still doesn't know how to -- or want to -- name.

"Why does anything?" Noja muses, and he chuckles at Quinn's annoyed growl. He takes his hand away, carefully untangling Quinn's stiff, sore fingers from his shirt. There's two dark, vaguely hand-shaped blood stains, but he doesn't seem the least bit concerned. "You are allowed to want things for yourself, Quinn," he murmurs.

Quinn huffs out a bitter sound, unsure if it's supposed to be a snort or a laugh. "Like fuck."

"Tabby isn't the only one allowed to be happy." The Alpha steps back, but doesn't leave, and Quinn beats down the sudden surge of emotion that gurgles up out of the pit, trying to keep it from seeping through the cracks. He can't tell if he wants to hit Noja, or grab his shirt again, and he hates feeling this way. He hates all of this, so new and wild and unknown. He hates the thought of _ but what if, _ so fragile and traitorous.

It's amazing how quickly everything can explode out of control, all because of something as stupid and genuine as _ it's your birthday. _

"What the fuck do you want from me, Noja?" He rubs his face, leaning against the counter. His legs still don't feel steady. Weakness has never been an option for him, but fuck, he's fallen far. Who is he without the rage? It's been his constant for so long. His armor. His shield from the rest of the world, as well as his weapon of choice. He's nothing without it.

"Nothing you wouldn't willingly give." The Alpha Dom smiles at him when he looks up, gentle and without any secrets hidden in his swirling, glowing eyes.

"Bullshit," he growls, and Noja _ laughs, _ warm and so fond that Quinn punches him. The man dodges easily, catching his fist and rubbing gently until he relaxes his hand and turns it palm-up. The punctures are still leaking blood sluggishly, deep but not bad enough to need stitches. He's got more than a few scars that will match these once they're healed, but Noja still touches him with so much care that it makes his breathing rough.

"No one asks for shit without wantin' somethin' in return," he grits out.

"Well, what do you want?" Noja moves away long enough to wet a towel and come back, holding his hand in his much bigger one and cleaning away the blood.

Quinn shakes his head. "I don't know." He does, though, at least somewhat.

Noja nods, as though he'd expected that answer. "It's alright not to know."

The cloth hurts his cuts, but he's had so much worse; his fingers don't even twitch. "I want her to suffer."

The Alpha hums quietly. "It's alright to want that too."

"I want Tabby to choose her own mate and be happy and not be afraid."

Those eyes lift to watch him, burning through Quinn until he looks away and grits his teeth.

"I want to live my life the way I fuckin' choose, and not the way everyone else says I have to."

"That's never stopped you before; I doubt it will now." Noja sets the towel aside and traces his fingers, the light touch achingly tender. Quinn watches from the corner of his eye.

"I wanna help you take her down," he whispers. "I want her to pay for what she's done. I want this shit to be _ over." _

"And afterwards?" He doesn't know how to interpret the look Noja gives him, but he'd recognize that feral glint hidden within it anywhere. He's seen that light in his own eyes, and the eyes of his opponents. He's even seen it in Noja's eyes before. It's the thrill of the hunt, of a fight; the eager drive to stalk and pounce and drag prey down beneath sharp fangs and ruthless claws.

He twitches, and Noja blinks, and suddenly he's softer again. Still fierce, but in the way that Quinn is unfamiliar with having directed at him. Those long fingers curl around his wrist and squeeze.

"You don't have to know right now, Quinn. You have time."

Quinn swallows thickly and grits his teeth.

"I don't-"

"I know." Noja cups his cheek, his massive hand cradling Quinn's face with so much gentleness it makes his chest ache. The Alpha's eyes reflect worlds back at him, swirling and fathomless and brimming with more emotion than anyone has ever shown him. He doesn't know how he's supposed to react to something so enormous, so he sighs quietly and tilts his head up, holding his breath.

"I don't," he whispers, hating the truth of it even as his voice stays steady.

Warm lips press between his eyes, the kiss searing through him and leaving him shocked and shivering. Quinn grips the man's arms and clenches his jaw, swallowing down all the things he has no idea how to say.

_ What the hell have you done to me? _

And, possibly even more confusing than that:

_ What have I let you do? _

Noja rumbles at him, a gentle croon, and kisses the furrows from his brows, his thumb gently stroking across Quinn's cheek in slow, soothing drags.

"You don't have to know right now, _ chispa_," he whispers, his breath burning into Quinn's skin in a way that he refuses to think about. "You don't even have to know next year. You'll know when you know, and I'll be here. You'll always know where to find me, so long as you want to. Remember: It will always be your choice."

"You say that like you're planning on leaving," Quinn growls, glaring at him, and Noja's answering laugh is rich and delighted.

"Oh, Quinn," he chuckles, shaking his head. "You have no idea, do you?"

Quinn scowls. "About what?" he snaps, flinching when Noja strokes his cheek again but managing not to pull away entirely.

"I couldn't leave if I wanted to, _ chispa," _ the Alpha murmurs. "Not now."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Noja just smiles at him, turning toward the shattered plate with an amused, patient hum.

"You're a smart man, birthday boy. You'll figure it out. Now, help me clean this up before Junebug gets hurt."

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn grumbles, but he's quick to kneel and start picking up the bigger pieces, cooing softly when he hears the fawn's unsure bleat from the other side of the island. She hasn't come out of hiding yet, but he knows that she will. For now, he gives her the space that she clearly needs.

"Oh, and Quinn?"

Looking up, he arches an eyebrow at the other man and grunts, "What?"

Noja's grin is full of mischief, his eyes twinkling.

"Merry Christmas, too."

_ You son of a bitch, _ he thinks, feeling his lips twitch. The sound he makes is almost -- _ almost _ \-- a laugh.

"Fuck you."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever let them have nice things?
> 
> Maybe. Probably. We'll see.

Noja's phone doesn't ring very often. Every once in a while, it'll chime with a text or email, but even those sounds aren't that common. It's strange, to Quinn; he hardly has many friends, but even he interacted with more people than the Alpha Dom seems to. The fact that he was beating most of them to a bloody pulp is inconsequential -- he still interacted with Tappik, and Trigger, and one or two other fighters. He still talked to Tabby daily in some way, shape, or form.

Noja hardly ever speaks to anyone. The only evidence Quinn has that the man even has a friend are the emails between him and Dwayne. Maybe Dwayne is the one texting him once every few days, to make sure the omega in his care hasn't killed him.

When's the last time he even thought about slitting the man's throat or ripping out his jugular with his teeth? Everything has become so twisted up inside of him that it's almost impossible to remember. Their interactions have improved, but Quinn still doesn't trust Noja's intentions, for all that he's promised he means no harm, and the steady, truthful thumping of his heartbeat every time Quinn postures and calls him a liar.

When the Alpha's phone rings, it startles him out of his doze, his eyes blinking open and immediately looking down at Junebug. The fawn is sprawled across him like the world's most unusual lapdog, her nose tucked into the collar of his shirt and her sleepy breaths warm and snuffling. He's stretched out across the couch, still blinking the gritty feeling of interrupted sleep from his eyes. Burying his hand in the fur over Junebug's sleek, strong shoulder, he rumbles tiredly, tilting his head back to try and pinpoint the incessant thing's owner.

"Noja," he grumbles, vision sharpening when the man rises from his chair and goes to grab it from the counter. Quinn follows him with tired eyes, watching the way the afternoon light glows through his hair and plays with shadows in the dips and curves of his muscles. He grits his teeth, annoyed with himself for noticing; irritated when he feels the center of his forehead warm with the memory of a dry, gentle kiss.

"Who is it?"

Noja frowns at the screen, looking surprised, and in answer, he brings the phone back and hands it to Quinn without a word. Confused, he looks at it, his eyes widening when he sees his sister's name. He swipes to answer it before the call drops, doing his best not to jostle Junebug when he brings the phone up to his ear.

"Tabby?"

"Quinn." Her voice sounds off, like she's upset. Moving his hand up to rub the base of Junebug's skull, he bites the inside of his lip and croons quietly.

"Hey, you alright? What's wrong? What did mother do this time?" Few things can make Tabby sound like that, and Eleanor Park is usually at the top of the list.

"Quinn," Tabby says again, her voice strained and cracking. "Where are you right now?"

"I'm at work, why?" The lie is so easy now, slipping from him with a familiar little curl of distress through his stomach that he's learned to ignore almost too well. "You're lucky the boss and I were near each other. Tabby, what's going on?"

Of all the things he's expecting, it's not for Tabby to start crying. Her sniffles are quiet at first, choked back like she's trying to hide them, but within seconds she's keening and sobbing. Quinn goes tense, cooing to try and soothe her anguish.

"Tabby, hey, no. What's wrong, flower? What happened?" He sits up, moving Junebug to the side carefully. She fusses at him, squirming stubbornly back across his lap and shoving her nose into the cup of his palm. Noja's eyes are dark, his expression unreadable as he watches the phonecall.

"Tabby? C'mon, talk to me."

"Why are you lying?" she cries, and everything in him goes cold.

"What? What do you mean, Tabby? I'm not lying." He tries to keep his voice light and even, tries to mask the panic rising in him as his sister's sobs get louder and tear into him like claws. _ She can't know, _ he thinks wildly. _ She can't know. She can't. _

"You are!" she shouts, and he wonders where she is. Shouldn't she be in class? What day is it? Noja has never kept a calendar lying around, and he didn't get a look at the date when he grabbed the phone. He'd been too distracted by the fact that Tabby called him first rather than waiting for him to call her.

"I'm not," he protests weakly. "Tabby, breathe, come on. Tell me what happened."

"I heard mom talking to someone on the phone," Tabby hiccups out between sobs that wrench at Quinn's heart. "About your _ reconditioning. _ She didn't know I was home. I told her I was gonna go to a study group, but I decided not to. She said-" She chokes out another agonized noise, and Quinn whines through his teeth, feeling his eyes burn. "She said you're finally starting to learn. She said that no one knew about the _ fights, _ so everything would be fine."

"Tabby," he whispers, feeling numb and terrified and angry -- not at her, never at his flower, but the swirling mess of emotions makes him dig his claws into the armrests of the couch, feeling the leather split beneath them. "Tabby, no, she's just talkin' shit-"

_ "Stop lying to me!" _

How has everything gone out of control so quickly? When did he even lose control over the situation in the first place? Tabby sounds _ furious, _ her anger overtaking her sadness in a way it rarely does with her. Quinn has always been the hothead; the feral brother, the violent one. It's always been his way to snarl and yell and attack first. Tabby has always been the smarter one, level-headed and gentle; rarely letting her emotions get the better of her the way Quinn always does.

Swallowing thickly, he looks at Noja. The Alpha is sitting across from him, massive hands wrapped around one another with his chin propped on top. His lips are pulled in a crooked, sympathetic wince, his eyes partially hidden by his bangs.

"Tabby," Quinn says quietly, defeated. "Please, flower. You need to calm down."

She's crying again. "How long?" she demands, and Quinn bites his lip until it bleeds.

"How long for what?"

"How long were you going to keep this from me? The fights, the fact that she _ sent you away for reconditioning, _ all of it. How _ long, _ Quinn?"

He knows the answer to that, but he can't bring himself to say it, and he knows from the way that her breath hitches that she understands it anyway.

"You son of a bitch," she whines, her voice shaking. "You absolute son of a _ bitch. _ What have you done to yourself, Quinn?"

"I did what I had to do, Tabby," he snaps, his voice hollow. "I did what I needed to do to keep you _ safe." _

"I never asked you to die for me!" she shouts, and he hears a muffled impact, like she's thrown something, or hit something. "I never asked you to risk your _ life _ for my freedom, Quinn! Is that how you've been paying for my tuition? Blood money? You think the damage to you is worth my future?"

"Yes!" he shouts back, anger winning for the moment. Tabby whimpers, and he hisses, rubbing his face and ignoring the wetness around his eyes. He hasn't cried in years; he's not about to start now. "Yes," he says again, quiet but forceful. "Everything I've done, it's all been worth it. So long as you're happy and free, nothing else matters to me. I'll do whatever I have to do if it means you get to live the life you deserve."

After a moment of tense, loaded silence, Tabby chokes out a brittle sound. "But I'm not, Quinn, am I?" she whispers, and even through the phone, he can hear how defeated she sounds. "I'm back here, with her. I'm stuck in the same cage, and you're caged too. We have no freedom."

"We will, Tabby," he swears, hunching over Junebug and ignoring her disgruntled noise as his chest presses her down against his legs. "I promise you, flower, it's gonna be okay."

She laughs, and there's no humor in it. "I don't believe you. You've been lying to me all this time, Quinn. All you've done is lie."

Quinn shakes his head frantically, panic bubbling up to replace his anger. "No," he whispers. "No, Tabby."

"Mother has chosen a suitor for me," his sister says, sounding lost and broken. "He has accepted. What I want doesn't matter now, Q. Not to him, not to her." Her voice drops to a betrayed, trembling whisper.

"Not to you, either."

"Don't," he chokes out, feeling like his lungs are being crushed beneath the pressure of his failures. "No, Tabby. What about Travis? I thought you two were going to be mated. You said-"

"It doesn't matter what I want, Quinn!" Tabby sobs. "He's just a beta. Mother will never accept him." Her voice drops again, straight back into anguish. "He told me, Quinn. I pushed him, I knew he was hiding _ something. _ He told me how you met. What he did. How can I ever-"

Quinn closes his eyes. "He didn't make me do anything, Tabby," he sighs. "I made my own choice. He's good for you; I _ know _ you like him. Don't push him away, flower, _ please. _ He can keep you safe."

"What can he do against Alphas?" She says it scornfully, but they both know she doesn't believe what she's saying. Even now, even knowing, she can't help but care about Tappik. Quinn knows it's real, even if he's never laid eyes on them together. He knows it as well as he knows himself.

"You'd be surprised at what Tappik can do against a few Alphas," he says lightly. Her laugh is strained and fractured, but he still smiles hearing it. "He loves you, flower," he whispers. "We both do. We'll keep you safe."

"What can you do, you idiot? You're locked up in some box God-knows-where!"

Quinn bites his lip, looking at Noja. Neither of them try to pretend he hasn't heard every word. When he nods, Quinn sucks in an unsteady breath and pulls the phone away from his ear, tapping the button to put his sister on speaker phone.

"Good afternoon, Miss Park," the Alpha Dom says politely. Tabby makes an odd, strangled squeaking noise.

"Who are you? Quinn?"

"I'm here, flower," he promises, and she sighs.

"What's going on?"

"My name is Timber Noja," the bear replies, meeting Quinn's eyes over the phone. "I must ask before I say anything else, Miss Park; are you alone?"

"Yeah," Tabby whispers. "I'm in my room. No one else is home. Who are you? Why are you with Quinn? Are-" She sucks in a sharp breath, and her next words come out edged in steel and sharp enough to cut. "Are you the one who took him away?"

"I am," Noja admits, and Tabby's snarl is a beautiful, wild thing. Quinn croons proudly, grinning when she grumbles and barks at him.

Noja chuckles. "I assure you, Miss Park, Quinn is perfectly safe. I have done nothing to harm him. At least, not without reason."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tabby's voice drops, heavy with a low, suspicious growl.

"He did break my wrist and fuck up my shoulder and collarbone," Quinn admits. He continues on before she can start yelling, "But in his defense, I did throw him down the stairs, and I tried to kill him."

_ "Quinn!" _

"It was a big adjustment," Noja says. "I don't blame him, and truthfully, I expected nothing less from someone so feral. It is in the past, and no one is worse for wear because of it. That is not what I wanted to speak to you about, though."

Tabby huffs, sounding so much like Quinn that he has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. "I'd gathered as much. Are you the one my mother hired for the reconditioning?"

"I am," the Alpha admits.

"But you haven't done it," she surmises curiously. "Why?"

"It goes against my organization's policy. We promote ourselves as a group that specializes in reconditioning feral and out of control omegas, and turning them into functioning, obedient members of society. In actuality, we help them escape their situations. Your brother is the only feral omega I've actually met, and therein lies the issue."

"You can stop talking about me like I'm not here," Quinn snaps.

"Shut up," Tabby snaps back. "The adults are talking."

"I'm older than you!" he sputters.

"In physical age, maybe," his sister retorts. _ "Hush, _ Quinn. I want to know what Noja means by what he said."

So does he, honestly, but Tabby has always been the more well-balanced one between them, and this is just another way that it shows. Grumbling, he glares at Noja and tries to ignore the fond, gentle smile that softens the Alpha's ruggedly handsome face. He looks strange without his beard, but it means that Quinn can eye his jawline for a moment before realizing what he's doing and looking away.

Knowing he has their attention again, Noja's lips quirk up into an amused curl. "Quinn is the first truly feral omega I've ever met," he says again, and when the bear nods at him, he jerks his own head stiffly in return. "That makes this both easier, and harder."

"How so?" Tabby asks quietly. Quinn eyes the phone, licking the inside of his lip and tasting blood.

"In some cases, my colleagues and I simply dissolve our power over the omega in our care. We transfer it over to them, meaning they are in control of their own destiny. It's why one of our stipulations is that their current power of attorney must sign over their rights to us. It's legally sound, and legally binding. There's no wiggle room. The parents, or the spouse, cannot fight it in court, because we can prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the omega is competent and beyond able to care for themselves."

"So you can do that with Quinn?" Tabby sounds excited, and despite the current subject matter, Quinn is relieved to see her let go of her anger and her distress. He hates when Tabby is upset, and the guilty knife just twists deeper when he knows it's his fault.

"I cannot," Noja replies quietly. He rubs his face. "There is too much stacked against him, from years of his feral behavior, to the fights, and to those he harmed. The Alphess they pulled him off of during the raid managed to pull through, but any judge will look at the pictures of what Quinn did and rule against him."

"Quinn," his sister whispers, her voice soft and horrified. "What did you _ do?" _

Glaring at the floor, he growls roughly. "Did what I had to, flower. Was either her or me."

"Be that as it may," Noja cuts in smoothly before Tabby can reply, "it will only hurt your chances if we simply try to transfer power of attorney from a guardian to Self-power. Which is why we must look into another course of action, which I have already explained to Quinn."

"He wants to build a case against the Mayor," Quinn explains, rubbing between Junebug's narrow shoulders with twitching fingers. "Prove she ain't a saint, or safe. Get her rights revoked or transferred permanently that way. She already signed 'em over to Noja until he decides to give 'em back."

"Can't you just keep them?" Tabby implores. "He's safe with you, isn't he? You won't force him to do anything. Right?"

"It was only a temporary sign-over." Noja sighs, and Quinn doesn't know how to interpret the look on his face. It makes something flutter through his abdomen, shivering from chest to stomach, and he sets his jaw stubbornly against the invading feeling. His forehead prickles warmly; he ignores that too.

"So extend it!" his sister begs, and Quinn growls roughly.

"I'm not a pet to be _ owned," _ he bites out. Tabby growls back at him, just as frustrated as he is, even if it's not for the same reason.

"Stop pushing your insecurities on everyone!" she barks. _ "God, _ Quinn, not every person that meets you is going to want to pin you down and fuck you!"

"No, you're right," Quinn agrees coldly, digging his claws deeper into the armrest. Noja glances at his hand and doesn't comment. "Some of them just want to beat the shit out of me 'cause I don't drop to my knees for them. Some of them wanna rip my tongue out so I can't back-talk. Hell, some of 'em wanna kill me, I'm sure. Didn't you say Travis told you how we met, when he went coughin' his guts up to you?" He's being harsh, maybe unfairly so, but there's a damn good reason he made sure Tabby stayed innocent to the darker ways of the world. She knew they existed, but he bloodied himself enough to make sure she have had to experience those shadows first-hand.

"He did," Tabby whispers, and he can hear her trying to hold back her tears. It takes all the fight right out of him, and he slumps against the back of the couch. Junebug rolls off his lap, flicking her tail at him before she stomps toward her pen; apparently he's no longer an acceptable bed. Just another thing he's failed at.

His laugh is a hollow, desolate huff.

"World's a cruel, shitty place for omegas, Tabby," he mutters, tucking his chin against his chest and closing his eyes. "All I ever wanted was for us to be _ free. _ Especially you, flower."

"This isn't the way to do it, beanstalk," she whispers unhappily. He grunts, neither accepting nor denying her truth. When she speaks again, her voice wavers.

"What can we do, Mr. Noja?"

"I'm building a case against your mother," the Alpha says quietly. "I've recorded every conversation, and made copies of every email. Unfortunately, I'll need more than that. I'll need detailed accounts, from both of you and anyone else willing to give them. Instances of her abuse-" Quinn flinches at the word, and feels Noja's eyes burn into him. "And anything else we can use to prove her guilt. Depending on what information we collect, we may be able to link it to your patterns of behavior, Quinn. No one is born feral. It comes from somewhere."

"What about forcing arranged marriages?"

"Marriages?" Quinn repeats, emphasising the plural and opening his eyes with a scowl. "What do you mean, marriag_es?" _

"Yours, too," his sister replies quietly. "The Alphess revoked her intent a few days after you _ left." _ The way she says it makes him twitch and dig his teeth back into his lip, tearing at the cut he's already made. "Someone else came forward, though. She tried to hide it from me, but she's really, _ really _ bad at telling when someone is listening in on her phone conversations." Tabby sounds proud of herself, and Quinn can't help but grin.

"Sneaky little shit," he croons fondly.

"Bitey bastard," she retorts, and he can hear her grin through the phone. Even Noja chuckles.

"So, what, she's got another prospect lined up for me to chase away?"

Now, Tabby hesitates. "Not exactly," she admits, sounding uncertain. "She, uh… She accepted for you. Told him you were away on a job, but that you'd be thrilled and accepting once you came home. It didn't sit right with me, the way she said it."

"Another reason I cannot simply let him go home to bide his time until we can help him run," Noja comments, staring Quinn down across the coffee table and raising an eyebrow at him when he growls. "His nature would betray him. We can use that in our favor when Alpha Mayor Park shows up here unexpectedly, but it won't work anywhere else."

"So what _can_ we do?" Tabby asks, plaintive and radiating worry so thick that Quinn can almost taste it through the phone.

"Set up a meeting," he suggests, the words slipping free before he's even thought about it. He snaps his jaws shut and stares at Noja. The grizzly looks intrigued.

"Care to explain?" he prods, resting an ankle on the opposite knee and tilting his head. "What sort of meeting?"

"He'll wanna meet in person, right?" Quinn curls his lip at the thought. "Get a look at what he's signed up for. She'll have shown him a picture, but he's gonna want more. He's an Alpha, it's what they do." He stares Noja down as he says it, daring him to disagree, and the man rubs his jaw thoughtfully.

"You think he'll want to to try and scent you?"

"I know he will." Growling, Quinn jerks his head angrily. "They all have. I'll just do to him what I did to them, and he'll give up quickly. Then it won't be an issue anymore."

"Your mother will expect me to be there. Legally, she cannot keep me from going, as I'm your current power of attorney. _ Legally, _ she isn't allowed to give your hand away at all, when she's not your guardian. If nothing else, it's a mark against her on my report."

"If she's not legally allowed to, why would she risk it?"

Tabby has a good point, but this is their mother they're talking about. "Probably because we weren't supposed to find out," he mutters. "She was probably planning to have him wait until I came back, and then spring it on me."

"So if we do anything right now, it'll look suspicious, right?" To his surprise, Tabby sounds frustrated by the fact. He looks at the phone, frowning thoughtfully.

"Flower?"

Her sigh is heavy and aggravated. "I'm still mad at you," she says bluntly, and Quinn tries to ignore the way his lungs seize painfully at her tone. Noja rumbles, quiet and soothing, and he glares at the Alpha even as he relaxes enough to breathe.

"I don't blame you, Tabby. I won't apologize for what I did, though. If it meant you were safe, I'd do it all over again. I just wouldn't get caught this time."

Tabby snorts. "Yeah, well, it's too late for wishing on stars, big brother. Right now, we just have to make the best of the hand we've been dealt."

"Don't give up," he implores. "Don't give up, flower. Not on me, not on Tappik, not on _ anything. _ We'll get this figured out."

"I don't know how we can, right now." Tabby sounds so much older than twenty, and Quinn hates that he's had any part in ruining that for her. He tried so _ hard _ to protect his sister from the world, and he's the reason it all went to shit -- all because he couldn't fucking control himself.

"There may be a way," Noja says thoughtfully, and Quinn lifts his head to stare at the Alpha, his eyes narrowed. Tabby makes a sweet, hopeful noise that has him clutching the phone closer to his chest, curling around it as if he's trying to curl around her, his shoulders hunched to keep her safe.

"How?" he asks warily.

The man smiles at him, nothing shadowed or hidden in those whiskey eyes. They're well past the days of keeping secrets, even if Quinn still holds several close to the cavern of his chest. Everything else may have poured through the cracks, but the tar of those particular memories was not so easily dislodged.

"She wants to see you," the Alpha replies simply. "Photographs, videos, in person; she's rather desperate to follow your progress. I'm assuming your rehabilitation will serve some particular political purpose of hers. If that's the truth, we may be able to use that to our advantage."

No one says anything for a moment, and then Tabby whistles, long and low.

"You're kind of ruthless, aren't you, Mr. Noja?"

"I have been known to be many things, Miss Park," Noja says, his smile sending shivers through Quinn. "And please, just Timber or Noja will do. Formal titles really aren't to my preference."

"Well, in that case, you can just call me Tabby. I don't really like them, either."

"Very well," the man murmurs, and Quinn can't help his annoyed rumble. He never expected them to actually _ get along, _ considering everything, but his sister has always been far more forgiving than he is. She's always tried to understand things from every angle, claiming that nothing was ever just black and white. At times, he envies her optimism. Right now, it just makes his eye twitch.

"So what do we do?" he grumbles. "You wanna, what? Invite her here for a meeting?"

Noja's eyes flash. "I doubt even she would be arrogant enough to bring an unknown Alpha onto my territory, after her last visit." His voice drops into something low and dangerous, something that makes the hair on Quinn's nape and arms stand on end. Warmth throbs low in his abdomen, and he clenches his jaw, doing his best to ignore the feeling.

"Cryptic shit," he warns, unwilling to deal with the man's bullshit and riddles right now. "Fuckin' out with it, Noja."

"Manners, Quinn," Tabby admonishes, and he can't help but laugh.

"The hell're those?" he quips back, and feels validated when the Alpha laughs as well, the sound rich and warm; like sinking into a bath that's the perfect temperature, one that eases all of his aches and relaxes his muscles, chasing away the tension he carries constantly.

"Quinn?"

It's Tabby calling his name, her voice light and curious, and he realizes with a jolt that he's been _ purring. _ Horrified, he coughs to break the sound and glares at the wall.

"So what the fuck do you mean, Noja?" he snaps, refusing to look at the bear when he shifts in his seat and crosses his legs the other way.

"I'm not inviting her here, and it isn't public enough anyway. To ensure that _ all _ parties behave themselves, perhaps having a meeting in public would be best. Do you suppose that would be enough incentive to bring along this… boy Alpha she's chosen for you?"

There's something about the way he says _ boy Alpha _ that makes Quinn swallow, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy in his mouth. It sounds dark, what little he can glean from the man's scent burning his nose like woodsmoke and crackling flames.

"Knowing her, she'd do it," Tabby mutters, sounding sullen. "Anything she can do to try and swing things in her favor. She doesn't like not being in control."

"I don't know of many Alphas that enjoy having their control taken from them," Noja agrees.

"Oh, yeah. I guess you're an Alpha too, huh?" Now Tabby sounds sheepish. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," the man says, amused and fond. "I'm an Alpha Dom, though I do my best not to let that fact rule the situations I put myself in. We are more than just our ranks, after all."

"An Alpha _ Dom," _ Tabby whispers, and Quinn can already see the way her eyes must be lighting up. "I've never met an Alpha Dom before!"

"Join the club," Quinn mutters sourly. "Ain't all it's cracked up to be, flower. Can we _ focus?" _

"Of course, Quinn," Noja murmurs, meeting his glare with amused, glittering eyes. "Tabitha," he continues without looking away or blinking, "I'm afraid I'm going to need my phone back. I have to make a call. If you'd like, we can keep you informed from now on, since the truth is out."

Tabby makes an eager little trilling noise. "Oh, please do," she breathes. _ "Please. _ I may want to smack the shit out of you, but you're my brother, Q. Please… Please don't leave me in the dark anymore. I can't lose you. I _ can't." _

"You won't, Tabby, he says quietly, pressing his cheek against the phone screen and crooning. She coos back, sweet and sad, and he does his best to look like his heart isn't being gashed to ribbons. From the look on Noja's face, he's only mildly successful.

"Speak soon, Tabs."

"I love you, beanstalk. Be safe. I _ mean _ it. I'll kick your ass if something happens to you. Be _ safe." _

"I'll always try for you, flower," he whispers, and then she's gone. A few seconds later, he hears the dial tone, so he hangs up and tosses the phone to Noja before he does something stupid like call her back just so she can threaten him for a little longer.

"I hate this," he grunts. Noja rumbles gently, his eyes glowing like liquid fire.

"I know, _ chispa. _ We'll finish it soon, I promise, and then you won't ever need to worry again."

"The hell's that even mean? _ Chispa." _ It doesn't sound right coming from him; doesn't roll off his tongue as naturally as Noja's. It sparks something warm in him regardless, something his instincts hunker around protectively, even if he hasn't got the slightest clue as to _ why. _

Noja just smiles at him, wide and warm, and presses the phone to his ear, humming quietly until Quinn hears the telltale click of someone picking up on the other end.

"Hey, Dwayne," the Alpha says. The voice on the other end answers, low and rumbling, and Noja laughs in response.

"No, nothing like that. I need your help setting something up. Mmn? Yeah." His eyes twinkle at Quinn, and he tries not to fidget in his seat. He can't hear exactly what Dwayne says in response, but he thinks it's a question. It has to be, if the way Noja laughs before he answers is any indication.

"Yeah, come on over. We have a lot to talk about."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HEY I MANAGED ALMOST 5500 WORDS YAY
> 
> Forgive my delay, and any further delay for the next little while. I am dealing with some medical issues right now, and it's taking a lot out of me. I will do my best not to be *horribly* late with updates. I thank you for your patience, and your continued support. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this far, left comments, or smashed that kudos button. It means more to me than I can ever put into words. 💚💚
> 
> P.S.: If you want to know what Dwayne looks like, imagine Idris Elba as an Alpha Dom. 'Cause that's pretty much exactly what I did. Oops?

Dwayne Eastburn is nothing like Quinn is expecting him to be.

The man turns onto the driveway almost four hours after the phone call, folded behind the wheel of a beat-up old truck that squeals and whines, the patches of rust almost overtaking the paint job. When he climbs out, standing behind Noja's Durango with his hands on his hips, Quinn can see his wild grin from the deck. The air around him crackles with the heavy charge of an approaching storm, his scent ozone-sharp and wet like damp soil.

"Timber," he hollers, raising a big hand to wave with the enthusiasm of a cub. "I was wonderin' when ya were gonna call!"

His accent is thick and syrup-dark, simultaneously slurring and succinct in a way that Quinn thinks is more deliberately disarming than unintentional. Even from yards away, he can smell the Alpha Dom's cougar-kin scent, and it makes his hackles bristle. He growls quietly, low in his chest, and sidesteps the hand Noja reaches toward him with, turning his sharp glare to the grizzly.

"Seriously?"

"You get used to him," Noja offers, longsuffering and fond; his shoulders roll in an uneven shrug. "He's far from a bad man. I'd say more… _ eccentric _ than anything else."

"Fantastic," Quinn scoffs, watching the cougar approach from the corner of his eye. Dwayne doesn't look as tall as Noja, but he's definitely got more muscle, and less control over his scent. It arcs through the air like bolts of lightning that make Quinn bare his teeth, his gums aching.

The cougar is African American, his skin dark and his eyes nearly black aside from the glowing bronze of his pupils. When he grins wider, almost all of his teeth are predator-sharp. He's not wearing a cap, his black hair cropped close to his skull, but considering the heat that rolls off of creatures like him and Noja, he probably can't feel the cold the way Quinn does.

"How was the drive?" Noja asks, friendly and relaxed as Dwayne hits the bottom step and starts climbing. It's nothing like when Eleanor trespassed without permission; the bear is smiling, his muscles loose and his hands tucked into his pockets, his chest and belly wide open and vulnerable in a show of trust that leaves Quinn feeling stunned.

How can two apex predators share space so easily?

"Shit," Dwayne replies, dragging the word out with a crooked grin. He's got scars across his mouth, a few trailing in thick, knotted lines up the side of his face to his temple; the skin divots unnaturally there, like part of the skull is missing, and Quinn eyes it thoughtfully.

_ Who the hell is this guy? _ No one gets injuries like that sitting behind a desk in some governmental building. Quinn has his own scars from fighting, and he's seen his fair share of battle-marked veterans in the underground, but someone like this is the last person he expected to see with that kind of history scrawled so blatantly across them.

"Well hey there."

Eyes snapping back to meet the cougar's amused, twinkling gaze, he wrinkles his nose. "Do you mind?" he growls, waving a dismissive hand toward the man standing just two steps down from them. "Pull in your scent."

Dwayne laughs, scratching at the back of his head in a gesture that almost comes off as _ bashful. _ "Would if I could. Can't regulate it like Timber can. Used ta be able to, but I can't anymore." Undeterred, he offers his hand, his knuckles scarred and his palm pitted with circular marks. "Dwayne Eastburn."

At Noja's subtle, encouraging nod, he sighs and offers his own hand. "Quinn, but you probably already knew tha-"

The Alpha moves _ fast, _ grabbing his hand and yanking him almost completely off his feet. Quinn grabs for the railing to keep from tumbling forward, but Dwayne pulls again, until he thuds against the man's frankly _ ridiculous _ chest with a sharp, startled snarl. Words fail him when his arm is lifted and turned, his sleeve nudged down to bare the scent gland tucked along the inside of his wrist. Dwayne's nose brushes the gland, his nostrils flaring as he breathes in.

"You're somethin' else, ain't ya, little darlin'," he murmurs, sounding curious and amused. Those dark eyes flick to to meet his blazing glare, and the man's lips pull into an even wider grin.

"Pleasure ta meet ya, Quinn Park."

Noja makes a low, strangled noise of dismay, and Quinn makes sure he's got a good grip on the railing this time before he leans back and punches Dwayne right in the fucking nose, letting out a furious roar. The Alpha goes flying back down the steps, landing in a heap at the bottom, and Quinn shakes the sting out of his hand, watching droplets of red splatter across the snowy steps.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," he hisses.

"Quinn," Noja sighs, looking up toward the cloudy sky like he's praying for patience. His lips twitch, just a quick tick that travels up his jaw, but Quinn sees it. The Alpha is _ amused, _ but he's trying to hide it.

At the bottom of the stairs, Dwayne sits up with a groan, bringing a hand up to touch his nose. He's already got blood everywhere, and when he sees it shining on his fingers, his eyes widen. Quinn bares his teeth, tense and ready to fight, but then Dwayne _ laughs. _

"Oh my shittin' fuck, you _ are _ a wild one!" he crows, cackling like a hyena as he drags himself to his feet. He's unsteady for a moment, swaying dangerously, and he slaps his hand against the side of the house, almost wheezing through his laughter. His nose is definitely broken, but he doesn't seem to care at all, his face scrunched up and his mouth wide open as he brays like a fucking donkey.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Quinn shouts; this is the last reaction he'd been expecting. Like hell he's going to apologize for punching the cougar, either -- scent glands are incredibly personal. He had no right to go sniffing and nosing at Quinn's wrist the way he did. That's not how people fucking greet each other.

"Now ain't that a loaded question," the cougar muses, laughing again. He rests his hands on his hips and looks up at Quinn, his eyes sparking with a light Quinn is all too familiar with. The realization is like a smack in the face; he can't believe he didn't figure it out sooner.

"You were a fighter!" Growling, he tenses, his muscles coiling in preparation to leap at Dwayne. A massive hand clamps down on his nape before he can jump, Noja's middle finger dangerously close to his e-gland; the Alpha rumbles once, low and unamused now.

"Enough, Dwayne. That's _ not _ what I called you here about," Noja warns. His friend cackles, sharp and delighted, and shakes his head.

"Fuck you, you didn't," he agrees, still chuckling. "But _ damn, _ Nova, you can't just dangle the little darlin' in my face like that and expect me not to _ play." _ His scent eases, no longer quite as pungent and volatile, but there's still a light in his eyes that makes Quinn growl.

"Fuck off," he snarls, baring his teeth. "What the hell is your issue, you fuckin' psycho? The hell is someone like _ you _ doin' working for an organization like O.R.O?" How did someone like Dwayne even manage to become _ friends _ with someone like Noja? They're practically polar opposites.

Dwayne bares his teeth right back, much sharper and far more deadly than Quinn's incisors. Unlike him, the cougar's whole mouth is full of sharp, serrated fangs; the only difference between them is that his lips pull into a smile instead of peeling back to show his gums. "Clients need protection too, y'know," he replies, climbing the stairs again. He's covered in his own blood, and he doesn't seem to care at all. If anything, Quinn would say he's _ thrilled _ about it. "Not everyone's mommies and daddies are willin' ta let 'em go without a fight. That's where guys like me come in." He stops in front of Quinn, looking down at him. His scent is potent and strong, but it doesn't crush his chest or stop his lungs the way Noja's does. Dwayne is more like a storm; crackling electricity and the sharp, tingling buzz of danger on the horizon.

"We ain't all desk jockies, kid. Some of us need ta look like we're willin' a do whatever it takes. Some of us need ta be _ able _ ta do whatever it takes. Can't catch a runner if yer dead, yeah?"

"Dwayne," Noja warns, and the cougar sniffs, licking over his teeth before he waves a hand.

"Yeah, yeah. You got supper on, Timber? S'been a damn long trip. Could use a beer." The roiling threat of danger is suddenly gone, though the air around him is still heavy. It's a strange balance between violence and camaraderie, but he seems to wear it with ease.

Who the hell is this guy?

"Not if you're driving home," Noja replies pleasantly, his tone making Quinn shiver. After one last gentle squeeze, the bear lets him go, and he immediately skirts around them both to get back into the house. The adrenaline is still running thickly in his veins, leaving him keyed up and almost frantic as he stalks across the room toward his chair. As soon as he's sitting with his back to the wall and his eyes focused on the two Alpha Doms talking cheerfully in the kitchen, Junebug appears from behind the couch and lays her head on his lap.

Stroking the fawn's ears helps more than he expected it to, his breath shuddering out of him. There's no way he can relax, not with a creature like Dwayne in the house. He thought Noja was bad enough, but at least he's mild and laid-back for the most part. Dwayne Eastburn is nothing but a wild-card, piling his plate high with meat and grinning at Quinn across the island. He hasn't even washed the blood off his face.

"You got questions, little darlin'. They're all over that scowlin' face'a yers. C'mon then, ask us. I don't bite… Unless ya like bein' nibbled on?"

"Try it and I'll break your fuckin' jaw," Quinn snarls. He gets that same cracked, wild laugh in return, and wishes it was possible to set someone on fire with a glare.

"Behave, Dwayne," Noja reminds him, setting a plate on the edge of the coffee table closest to Quinn with a smile before he settles on the couch. Dwayne sprawls across the other chair, throwing a leg over the armrest and slouching with a pleased grumble as he starts to eat. Watching him reminds Quinn of a hungry jackal tearing into a carcass; the man eats like a feral beast, an arm curled protectively around his plate and a gleam in his eye that promises danger if anyone tries to take his meal.

Is that what he looks like when he eats, too?

"Dwayne is one of our top researchers, as well as one of our best at protecting omegas that have no choice but to run from their situations. We've got several others like him, just none as, ah, _ unique _ as he is."

"Ya c'n say 'crackpot,' Nova, ya know damn well it ain't gonna offend me," Dwayne mumbles around a mouthful of roasted chicken. He tears another strip free from the bone and chews, his dark eyes rolling from Noja to Quinn thoughtfully.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Quinn gently pushes Junebug away from his plate and brings it to his lap, sneaking her vegetables with one hand while he eats with the other. Noja watches him, missing nothing, but the bear only smiles. Dwayne crunches through the bone, probably to get at the cooked marrow, and watches him as he gestures to his own face.

"You were a fighter, right? How else would you have fucked your face up so bad?"

The cougar snorts. "S'called war, kid. Natural disasters. Freak accidents. All that shit applies too. Life ain't about fightin' and not fightin'. But yeah, got it in the ring. Alpha fucker threw me through a goddamn shitty wall. Came down on some rubble in the next room, and half the damn ceiling caved in on me. Just some shit luck. Shattered part of my skull. Still got back up and killed that little shit, though. Like hell I was lettin' him win. Ended up gettin' recruited int'a O.R.O. once I came out'a the coma. Guess they liked my style."

Quinn snorts. "How the hell did the ceiling cave in just 'cause you went through a wall?"

"Fuck if I know, kid. Shitty, old building? Load-bearing wall? Hell if I got the answers. Just had some shit luck, I guess. Highly doubt ya asked me here f'r _ my _ story though. I'm way more interested in yers. How'd the rich, spoiled Mayor's omega pup end up makin' such a name fer himself in the underground, eh?"

Gritting his teeth, Quinn clenches his fork had enough to feel the ache of the metal pressing into his palm. "How'd a fuckin' _ charmer _ like you get pulled into an organization that specialzes in helpin' omegas escape?" he fires back, giving the Alpha a very obvious, derisive once-over and raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "You don't exactly inspire a feeling of safety."

"Depends on how yer lookin' at it," the man replies with a shrug, dropping the finished bones in his hands and grabbing a thick, crispy thigh. He bites into it, sharp teeth sinking easily into the soft flesh. Grease gleams on his lips and in streaks across his bloody face. His nose is still bleeding, but it's a sluggish drip more than a gushing faucet. Even so, he's swallowing his own blood with every mouthful, seeming completely unperturbed by it. Either he's batshit insane, or he's used to it, and neither one of them are very promising.

Offering Junebug a palm full of peas, Quinn tilts his head, considering. "How so?"

A noise that might possibly be a chuckle scrapes out of the cougar's throat, those sharp eyes appraising Quinn like he's an interesting creature the man has stumbled across in the woods. "Think about it, kid," he says, his smirk pulling wide and crooked when Quinn growls at _ kid. _ "When you're runnin' for yer life with Alphas chasin' ya down who plan on draggin' ya back ta yer own personal version of hell, who ya gonna want savin' yer ass? Some muscled dude who looks like a librarian, or a guy who looks like he can rip a goddamn tree apart?"

All Quinn can think to say to that is, "Noja doesn't look even remotely like a librarian."

Dwayne _ howls _ with laughter, cracked and hysterical. Junebug startles, nimbly ducking around to hide against the side of Quinn's chair and peek around his knees. He rubs a soothing hand down her back, scratching just above her flicking tail and crooning quietly until she stops trembling.

"The hell's so funny about that?" he grumbles.

"Little darlin'," Dwayne drawls, completely ignoring him when he snaps _ stop fuckin' calling me that _ and leaning back in his chair, "trust me when I say the _ last _ person anyone wants chasin' 'em down ta protect a scared omega, is this fuckin' guy."

He jerks a thumb at Noja, who looks up with a quirked eyebrow and an expression that's politely curious. There's something in his eyes though, a look Quinn has only caught in quick glimpses a few times before it was gone. His scent never changes, but Quinn shivers, frowning heavily at the bear as he tries to figure out what the hell Dwayne is talking about.

"He looks like a lumberjack on steroids," he points out, gesturing needlessly at the man. He's not _ wrong; _ Noja is almost always wearing thick flannel shirts and jeans that have seen so much mud that it's stained into them forever. There's a hole in his left sock, his big toe just starting to peek out. His lips are shiny with grease. He's not wearing his glasses, but even if he was -- what's to be scared of?

"Trust me," Dwayne murmurs, his intense eyes burning into Quinn. It's nothing like when Noja stares him down, somehow. He meets the Alpha's look with a glare of his own, his canines barely covered.

"You ever gonna put those away?" He jerks his chin toward Dwayne, eyeing those sharp, serrated fangs.

Dwayne chuffs, looking like he's having the time of his life in the face of Quinn's blatant rudeness and scorn. "Can't," he says easily, tapping the divot in his temple with a careful claw. "When my head got all smashed up, it fucked with my wiring. Stuck me somewhere b'tween normal human and rabid monster. Took a helluva lot of therapy and work 'fore I was safe ta be around other Alphas. Nova here helped with a lot of that shit. I owe him."

"You owe me nothing," Noja says simply. "Quinn, would you like more? Junebug can't eat _ all _ of your vegetables. You need some as well."

"I'll get more," he grumbles, mutinously feeding the fawn chunks of carrot while staring Noja down. The man huffs quietly, smiling at him, and it's so tender that it leaves him feeling off-kilter and jittery in his own skin. He looks away, ignoring how intensely Dwayne is watching them both and focusing on Junebug. She's by far the safer option.

"So, as I mentioned previously, Dwayne is one of our top researchers in the organization. He's been responsible for looking into your mother and her background; what she's done, which groups and organizations support her, how she uses her funding and influence. You already know I've shared my interactions with the Mayor with him. He's added them to the case file, so we'll be adequately prepared when the time comes."

"She had a reason for pullin' this stunt when she did," Dwayne adds. "She'd been havin' you tracked for months b'fore you got nailed. She knew exactly what you were doin'."

Quinn jerks his head up, frowning. "The fuck?" he spits, his disbelief thick enough to be a palpable burn he tastes on his tongue. "How the fuck'd she find out?"

"Informants. People in the fights. She's got a lot'a damn reach, kid, she's made sure of that. And you ain't exactly inconspicuous. What, did ya think people weren't gonna realize you were her son, when most everything y'all do is up for public knowledge and speculation? When yer face has been in th' papers and on local tvs? People talk, darlin', it's what they _ do. _ And nothin' makes most talk faster than _ money." _

"So why wait so long?" Quinn argues. He'd been so _ careful. _ He'd hidden it from Tabby so easily, and they'd lived practically on top of each other. It was so easy to pass the scrapes and cuts off as injuries from his job. He always covered the bites and deeper wounds, and he let her think he was just a little clumsy. Two years of living together, and she'd never once suspected that he was lying. So how the hell had his mother figured it out, and _ when? _

"See, I got thoughts about that." Setting his plate on the coffee table with a quiet _ clink, _ the Alpha leans back and starts licking his fingers clean. "Maybe she wanted ta see if you'd get bored. Doubtful, considerin' it's _ you, _ but let's go with it. Maybe she thought you'd get yer fill an' that'd be that. She found out months ago, after all, and she waited all that time. I don't think it was that, though."

"Is _ everyone _ in this goddamn save-omegas club an expert at being a cryptic fuck?" Quinn snaps. Dwayne barks out a loud, raspy laugh.

"Fuckin' _ hell, _ I like you. Nah, Quinn, some of us can't monologue worth a goddamn fuck. You want answers, kid, or you wanna be a brat?"

"I _ wanna _ punch you in the fuckin' face again," he seethes. The cougar purrs, licking his lips.

"Oh yeah, I like you," he rumbles, deep and pleased. Noja is the one to interrupt this time, growling quietly and making Quinn twitch at the way it sinks beneath his skin and warms his blood.

"Dwayne," the man warns, his voice light but full of steel. "While we're still young, please."

"Mmm. Yeah, yeah, relax. You know I ain't gonna bite, brother." Dwayne scratches his chin, rubbing his thumb over one of the thicker scars that curls over his jawline. "It's not random that she had the raid happen when it did," he continues after a moment of thought. "It kept ya from killin' that Alphess, but that was just coincidence. Nah, elections are soon, and she's got some plans she's gearin' up ta implement. She's got some new sponsors that are interested in changin' some of them laws around omegas, and they've got the money ta help her make it happen."

"Which laws?" Quinn demands, moving his plate to the table so he can pull his legs up onto the chair and sit butterfly-style, digging his claws into his own ankles when he grips them.

"Well, that's where you come in." The cougar looks at him, his expression strangely serious for the first time since he's shown up. "It's not a coincidence that she sent ya off ta Timber so close ta yer heat. Ya got a damn potent scent, kid. I could smell ya from the _ road." _

"The hell were you doing here?" Quinn growls. Knowing Noja was lingering around was bad enough. Had Dwayne lurked as well?

"Someone had ta get that damn muzzle on him. I left as soon as I was done with it, but let me tell ya, kid, I ain't near as much a saint as our grizzly bear. You smelled fuckin' _ edible. _ A scent like that'll drive anyone fuckin' feral. Anyone but _ him, _ at least." He jerks a thumb at Noja, who looks _ embarrassed, _ of all things. "She wanted our best, and I gave her our best. She probably expected he wouldn't be able ta control himself, and that'd solve half her issues real nice. Didn't work out that way though, did it?"

"Like fuck." Snarling, Quinn glares at the table in front of him, feeling his canines dig into the dip just below the swell of his bottom lip. "That fuckin' _ bitch." _

"She's got a lot ridin' on this reconditionin' of yours workin', Quinn," Dwayne says, quiet and disarmingly severe. His eyes flash. "If it works, it paves the way for a whole lot'a shit. It's well known 'round the Hall that yer a feral one. Hell, it's known well across a lot of the city, people just don't talk about it all that loud. If ya come back and yer a _ proper _ omega, that gives her the leverage she needs ta prove that reconditioning _ works, _ and it won't take much to make it popular again. It'll be a _ massive _ setback fer omegas. I'm talkin' _ monumental. _ Omega rights have come a long way. There's still a hell of a long way ta go, but compared ta forty, fifty years ago? Y'all are getting stronger, and bolder. Laws are crackin' down harsher on those who overstep their boundaries, and omegas are becomin' less afraid to speak up when somethin' ain't right, 'cause they know they'll be _ heard. _ That new law'a hers she'll wanna push through? It'll take all that away. If you come back, and that feral fire of yers is caged, it'll be all she needs."

"I'll fuckin' kill her," Quinn snarls, rage a boiling wave crashing beneath his skin. "That fuckin'- she has _ no idea-" _

"She don't," Dwayne agrees. "'Cause you ain't exactly a normal omega, kid. Well," he corrects himself, "you ain't normal for today's standards."

"Yeah, I fuckin' _ get that," _ Quinn snaps. "That's why I'm fuckin' _ trapped here, _ you son of a bitch-"

"Quinn."

Turning his glare to Noja, he pauses, his mouth open to spew his fury at the man. The words hang in his throat, tumbling and raw, but they stay there when the Alpha's heavy eyes meet his, whiskey darkening to crackling amber.

"You are what omegas used to be," Noja rumbles, powerful and fierce enough to make Quinn swallow his rage. He licks his lips, breathing harshly through his nose, and swallows again when Noja follows his tongue before lifting that gaze back to his.

"You threaten everything society stands for today. The way you are is not _ wrong. _ There is _ nothing _ wrong with you. You are a reminder of how powerful omegas were before society and law took effect. Before the greed of the higher ranks trained others to be subservient and quiet, and it became an ingrained trait rather than simply a conditioned fact. Omegas are smaller, typically, that is true, but they are far from weak. If your mother is attempting to make herself the poster child of advancement and strength, then you are the poster child for regression and truth. You are what omegas were, and what they very well could be again, if society changes enough to give them that freedom. That can, and will, change _ everything _ we have come to know, and _ that _ is what terrifies her the most, I believe. Someone like you is a change no one has prepared themselves for. It's something no one can stop. It's the threat of chaos and revolution, and if she cannot contain you, she risks losing everything."

"That's not my fault," Quinn rumbles quietly. His mind is strangely quiet and blank, a calmness settling over him that he isn't sure how to identify. "I didn't ask to be born this way. I didn't ask for _ any _ of this, but like _ hell _ am I just gonna roll over and let her gut me 'cause she's _ scared." _

"A change like this is a terrifying proposal for those comfortably set in their ways," Noja agrees quietly. His lips twitch into a smile. "For those who are used to playing in the sand box they've claimed and not sharing, it is uncomfortable and frightening when someone else comes along and tears down the castle they have built around themselves."

Quinn snorts. "Sounds pretty fuckin' weak to me. If you can't even stand on the foundation you've built, like fuck do you get to force others to do it too. You don't get to stand on them just because you think it makes _ you _ stronger."

"God _ damn _ it, Nova," Dwayne groans. "I _ really _ fuckin' like this one. Fuck you. Fuckin' _ fuck you, _ you fucker."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Eyeing Dwayne, Quinn scowls. "The hell are you on about?"

"Dwayne loves strength." Noja stands and gathers their plates while Quinn glares at the cougar behind his back. "Nothing riles him up more than someone with intelligence who knows how to use it as a weapon."

"It's better than sex," Dwayne agrees, purring again as he leans back in his seat. "You're fuckin' _ dangerous, _ Quinn. I fuckin' like that."

"Stay the fuck away from me, or I will gut you like a pig."

"Oh fuck, you know just what to say to a guy." Despite the heavy, flirtatious tone and the way he grins, Quinn can tell that Dwayne isn't being serious. He hates getting messed with, he fucking _ hates _ entitled Alpha bullshit, but somehow, he isn't getting that vibe from the man right now. Even Dwayne's scent, as crackling and fierce as it is, never dips into anything different than _ intrigueamusementcuriosity. _ He's strong, and fierce, and more than a little unhinged, but he's weirdly respectful at the same time.

"You're fuckin' cracked in the head, you know that?"

It comes out before he's even thought about it, but Dwayne just laughs it off, looking almost indulgent as he grins at Quinn.

"Yeah," he decides. "I like you. You're _ fun." _

Noja's phone rings, saving Quinn from having to come up with an answer to counter _ that, _ and he's quick to stand. He ignores Dwayne as he heads toward the island, hearing the quick, eager click of Junebug's hooves as she follows after him. Noja is waiting in the kitchen, the phone resting next to his plate, which has been cleared of bones and piled with a healthy amount of mixed vegetables.

"Tabby," he says, nudging both things closer to Quinn. He swipes to answer, tapping to put his sister on speaker phone and popping a green bean in his mouth.

"Hey there, flower. What's the news?"

"Hey, Quinn." Tabby sounds more subdued than usual, but still warm. He knows it's going to take time for her to forgive him, and the thought that he's caused her so much pain is like a knife sliding up between his ribs toward his heart. "Did… Did that guy make it?"

"Yeah, he did." Ignoring the spoon Noja sets meaningfully beside his plate, he continues to eat with his fingers. "Told us some shit that pisses me the fuck off. The bitch home yet?"

"Not for a few more hours, at least. I'm in my room, anyway, so I'll hear her if she's coming. She never got that squeaky floorboard fixed, and she steps on it every single time."

"Fuckin' amateur," Quinn scoffs. "I know it's only been a few hours, but you find anything out about the bitch-boy Alpha yet?"

Dwayne's loud, cackling laughter startles Tabby. She barks in surprise, quickly trailing into an annoyed grumble, and Quinn grins.

"Yeah, this guy's fuckin' crazy. Just ignore him."

"I'm just here to help plan a bit of fun, little darlin'," Dwayne agrees, leaning on his elbows against the island. He doesn't bother trying to evade Quinn's punch, grunting when it hits just above his kidney. "Anyone ever tell ya yer big bro's got a temper? Shit."

Tabby recovers quickly and laughs. "I've heard it once or twice," she admits, her tone heavily amused.

"Buddy up later, or never," Quinn cuts in, annoyed. "Did you find anything, flower?"

"Not much," she admits. "He's got his own bio page on Google. He's part of his father's company; he'll inherit it once Winscot Senior retires. It's something to do with coding, or shipment? I don't know. It's easy to see why mother picked him, though. He's got the kind of old-money background and pedigree she seems to look for."

"Hngh. What's his name?"

"Archibald Emerson Winscot II."

Quinn chokes on his mouthful, slamming his fist against his chest as he hacks and wheezes. Dwayne is using the island to hold himself up, laughing so loudly he almost can't hear Tabby worriedly calling his name.

"Oh my fuckin' _ God," _ Dwayne howls, pounding a massive fist against the island repeatedly; Quinn isn't sure, but he thinks he hears something crack somewhere. "Oh, shit, it's a fuckin' _ Archie. _ Oh, that's fuckin' _ golden." _ He's crying, he's laughing so hard, or maybe he's crying because he's got a freshly-broken nose and he's pulling some truly impressive faces that can't feel pleasant. He doesn't stop laughing though, his head bowed between his outstretched arms as he cackles and drips fresh blood onto the floor.

"Quinn," Noja murmurs, pushing a glass of water toward him. He grunts in thanks, drinking almost too fast and nearly choking again. Tabby is still calling his name, almost whining by this point; he smacks Dwayne to shut him the fuck up and trills reassuringly.

"I'm alright, Tabby," he rasps. "Just wasn't expecting such a fuckin' _ tool _ of a name. Jesus fuckin' Christ, is he a Duke or somethin'? The hell names their kid that?"

"Archibald Senior and his wife, apparently." Tabby giggles. "He plays _ polo. _ He likes soccer. Apparently he's very intelligent; he went to Harvard."

"Spare me," Quinn mutters scathingly. "Alright then, tell me _ everything, _ flower. There's no fuckin' way the bitch won't bring _ that _ to whatever meeting she sets up. I wanna know what the hell I'm getting into."

"Oh, man, I love an undercover job," Dwayne hisses, his eyes glittering with an eagerness that makes Quinn edge a little farther away from him, toward where Noja stands as a shining pillar of mental stability.

"I'm already regretting this," he grumbles. It's far too late to change anything now though, so all he can do is lean against the island and listen to Tabby read the Alpha's bio page to him, lulled by the sound of his sister's voice and very, very aware of where Noja's hand rests on the island counter, barely three inches away from his.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell I managed another one within a reasonable time frame. Woo!
> 
> Y'all there's a lot of shit that happens in this chapter, in its own way. Have fun wading through. *salutes*
> 
> Imma go hide now.

"Why the fuck am I wearin' this?"

Quinn knows how petulant he sounds, his voice rough and bitter with distaste as he tugs at the cuff of his button-down shirt. He doesn't even remember buying something like this, but the dark blue fabric clings to his shoulders and falls loose around his waist, silky and strangely soft against his tensed skin. It's the complete opposite of anything he would ever pick -- maybe not the color, but definitely the style -- and it leaves him feeling off-balance and irritated.

"Typically, one does not wear graphic tees to meet their Intended for the first time," Noja replies lightly, his amusement tainted with something that sits heavily at the base of Quinn's throat. He can't quite figure it out, because the damn bear isn't _ acting _ any different than normal, but there's _ something _ there that makes his mouth dry and the hair on his arms stand on end. He rubs his palms against his thighs, scowling at the feel of the charcoal-colored slacks. His hair is unbearably fluffed up, and he's still not entirely sure how Noja managed to get close enough to tease his curls into something almost cooperative without Quinn ripping his face off. Maybe it's because of that strange something in the Alpha Dom's eyes, a glint that made him think twice at the time but just pisses him off now.

"He's not my fuckin' _ anything," _ Quinn snarls, glaring at Noja from the corner of his eye. The man has dressed up as well, foregoing his usual plaid flannel and torn jeans in favor of a dark brown henley and jeans that look brand new. Everything fits him almost too well, but that's probably more a size issue than a conscious choice. Quinn's eyes flick away, then back to the slight curve of Noja's stomach -- not a pouch, there's nothing _ soft _ about him, but also not what he expected from a top-tier Alpha Dom. There's not a scrap of excess fat anywhere on him, which isn't surprising considering how active he tends to be, but he's definitely far from flat-stomached. He's _ thick, _ and dangerous -- at least in appearance -- but he's far too mild-natured to be considered violent.

Looking away again before he's caught staring, Quinn bares his teeth and growls. His shirt is buttoned all the way up to hide the collar around his throat, and he hates the feeling of it more than he hates the damn transmitter box pushing against his skin. There's a temporary base on the floorboard behind him, one keyed up to keep him within half a mile of wherever Noja sets it; more than enough distance to leave it in the truck during lunch.

"I don't wanna fuckin' do this," he hisses. Getting away from the cabin for a bit would typically be a refreshing change of scenery, but considering the _ why _ in this situation, he'd much rather have stayed home and spent the day in the woods. It's misting finely, the sky overcast with dark, gloomy clouds, and it suits his mood just fine. He and Junebug could have spent the day exploring, since her leg is getting stronger every day. They rarely use the front door, but it's easier to coax her outside that way; there's fewer steps to worry about than if they tried to go down the deck stairs.

Soon, she'll be completely healed, and then she won't need them anymore. Quinn tries not to dwell too much on thoughts like that, but right now, with his mood already so dark and sour, it's hard to forget that one day, the little fawn will leave him.

"Once it's over, we can go back home," Noja says, his voice quiet and even. He's not entirely calm, but he's nowhere close to Quinn's own level of aggravation. Whatever mood he's in, it's infectious, feeding into Quinn's anger until he's a roiling, furious mess churning beneath the surface. He thunks his head against the Durango's window and huffs out a growling sigh, digging his thumbs into the seat between his knees.

"It's not ideal, Quinn, but it _ is _ important. What we learn today could help us tremendously down the line. As much as you may not want to face this, we have to make sacrifices."

"We?" Sneering, Quinn flicks another glare toward the Alpha, letting his lip curl high enough to bare one sharp canine. "How is this a _ we _ situation? I don't see you throwin' yourself to the goddamn dogs, here."

Noja's fingers flex around the steering wheel, a muscle in his jaw jumping, but he doesn't respond. Even his scent gives nothing away, but it still burns Quinn's nose in a way it usually doesn't, the rich smokiness turned to char and ash. He shakes his head roughly, grinding his temple harder against the cold, foggy glass of the window and opening his mouth to breathe that way.

"I'm sorry Tabitha isn't going to be there."

It's not what he's expecting to hear, his eyes snapping back to Noja before he can help himself. "Didn't think she would be," he grunts, voice rough and bitter despite his careless words. If she had come, it would have meant she _ knew, _ and for all their mother's boasted intelligence, Eleanor still doesn't know how easily they're playing her. Having Tabby in front of him and _ safe _ would have been a balm to Quinn's violent, clawing rage, but their mother rarely thinks beyond having the upper hand. She'll lord this over him, threaten him with a saccharine smile and expect Quinn to obey, because Tabby has always been his biggest weakness.

"You are very protective of her." Noja relaxes his grip on the steering wheel, his seat creaking when the man adjusts his bulk. They're barely an hour into the drive; there's still a long way to go before they reach Elmar. "I don't think I've ever seen siblings as close as you two. You act more like a parent at times than a brother."

"Why shouldn't I?" He means for it to come out snappish, but it's far too hollow. Resting his head against the window, he traces meaningless patterns through the foggy condensation. "Only real parent we ever had fuckin' died. Like hell I was leavin' her to a bitch that didn't want her."

Noja glances at him with a heavy frown. "What do you mean? Tabby is her daughter "

Quinn snorts, slashing his fingertips through the spiral he just drew, leaving lines similar to claw marks. "Not the daughter she wanted," he mutters. "Dad had me, and I was a boy, so it didn't matter what I was. _ She _ carried Tabby, so I guess she assumed Tabby would be an Alpha like her, 'cause only Alpha females lead the family. But Tabby's an omega, and Eleanor was too old to have another kid, and Dad never conceived after me no matter what they tried. So, that all went to hell."

It's unlike him to speak so freely with anyone. He can't remember the last time he whispered this family secret to anyone but Tabby, curled beneath the covers as children while he explained the cruel truth to her. He'd sworn back then that he would always keep her safe. That he would never let anything happen to her.

He's doing such a great job of it.

"A beta and an omega pairing can still produce an Alpha child," Noja murmurs, turning his frown toward the road. The farther down the mountain they go, the better it gets, muddy snow and unpaved terrain slowly giving way to asphalt and some manner of plowing. The man's ability to handle his vehicle is truly impressive; Quinn can admit that much to himself. There aren't many drivers who could handle dirt tracks and snow banks crowded by thick trees without losing control.

"Not as likely as with an Alpha partner," Quinn grunts, connecting the lines he's cut and creating something new. "And not the pedigree she's looking for. Bloodlines mean everything to her."

"Creator forbid anyone gives love a chance anymore."

Finger stopping in the middle of connecting another line, Quinn looks at Noja. The bear isn't looking at him, his brow furrowed heavily as he stares resolutely at the road. His knuckles are white, another muscle in his jaw jumping and twitching. When he swallows, the tendons in his neck bulge, his chest rising with the deep breath he drags in through his nose.

"Love means a lot to you, huh?" he muses. There isn't much he's found that manages to rile Noja -- at least, not visibly. He's so stoic and mild-mannered that it makes Quinn want to scream, because he knows there's more beneath that gentle, strong face. He's seen hints of the beast before, slipping through the cracks, and he wants to see just how feral the bear is behind that carefully-worn mask of his. This is the first time he's seen a slip like this though, and he's determined to dig for more, to sink his claws in and bully his way through before Noja can snap shut again.

"Why shouldn't it?" Noja sighs, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. He's gotten so used to it hanging around the Alpha's head in soft, wavy tufts that seeing him like this is _ strange. _ It's a reminder of the Noja he first met, who was cold and unfamiliar and pinned him without care or reservation, growling threats and crushing Quinn with his overpowering presence.

He much prefers Noja's usual mask.

"Dunno," Quinn replies, shrugging. "Doesn't seem to matter much, to a lot of people. I mean, Dad loved _ her, _ but they had an arranged marriage too. It was more like love because of convenience, after a while. They were just doing what they were told to, and making the best of their situation."

"That's not how love should be," Noja says quietly. "That's not how it was for my parents. That's not how it is for a lot of people. Would you tell Tabby to give up on Travis because it isn't _ convenient? _ And what about you?" he goes on before Quinn can snap out an angry retort. He sees one whiskey-colored eye flick toward him, the Alpha's face looking pinched and severe even from the side.

"What about me?" he growls.

"Wouldn't it be more convenient to just do as you're told? To listen, and stop fighting, and marry this Alpha your mother has chosen for you? After all, you said it yourself; love can come in time. Who says you won't love him in a year or two, regardless of how you feel now?"

"Like _ hell," _ Quinn snarls, clenching his hands into fists. "Like fuck anyone is gonna trap me in some fuckin' place I never wanted to be!"

"And yet, you're here with me now."

That takes the wind right out of Quinn. He freezes, mouth open and fangs digging into his lower lip; he hadn't even felt them drop. He's panting, emotions a tangled, heavy mess in his chest.

"I didn't have a choice," he hisses, feeling the burn as his eyes glow yellow.

"And yet, you've made the best of it," Noja agrees quietly, looking away from him again. "I'm under no delusions that you would still be here if it was your choice, Quintus, with or without knowing the truth of what the organization has planned."

_ Don't call me that, _ he thinks, blinking until his eyes are dark again.

"The fact is, you have been forced to make the best of a bad situation. You have done what you felt was necessary to keep yourself safe, and sane. This was never your first choice, but the reality is that these are the cards you have been dealt." Noja stops at a red light, the first one they've come across since leaving the mountain. There are cars around them now, and small-town buildings sprawled on either side of the road.

Quinn can't see any of it. Not when Noja is staring at him again, his expression unreadable and his eyes hooded. "The hell are you gettin' at?" he rasps.

"This is what you are comparing love to," the Alpha says, no trace of humor in his voice. "This is your basis. And that is not love. It is merely tolerance and adaptation. We adapt to what we cannot change so that it cannot consume us. We learn to be happy with what we are given, because we have never been encouraged to ask for more. If he never learned to reach, my father would never have left his village. If _ you _ never learned to adapt, you would already be married. Love is part of these things, in its own way, but they in themselves are not _ love." _

"Then what the hell is it?" Quinn hisses, jerking when the Durango moves suddenly. The light is green, and people are out walking the streets despite the weather. He stares at a couple walking with a little girl, each of her gloved hands held tightly in one of theirs. She's smiling, even though they aren't talking to her; one of her top front teeth is missing.

"Love is freedom." Noja is so quiet. His voice doesn't sound anything like it usually does. Quinn keeps his eyes on the little girl and her parents, wondering what she is; what they are. They're all so happy, even though the day is so cold and bleak.

"Love is pain, and anguish, and strength. It's everything that's good and terrible in this world, at the same time. People have done terrible things in the name of love, but they've done incredible, astonishing things as well. Honestly, love is something that can't always be easily described, because it feels different for everyone. Panic, shortness of breath, a warmth in your chest; everyone experiences it in their own ways, even if the symptoms are frequently the same."

"You make it sound like a disease." He loves Tabby, but loving his sister doesn't feel anything like that. Tabby is his flower; she's _ his. _ He loved his father, but he can't remember how through the pain of having him ripped away.

_ Pain. _ Pain is something he's intimately familiar with, in many ways. He'd felt nothing but a hollow space in his chest, raw and aching, and Noja took that from him too. He's taken a hell of a lot away from Quinn, but he's given him things back as well, and he has no idea what the fuck he's supposed to do with any of it.

"You ever been in love?"

Noja hums a neutral sounding croon, his lips twitching up in a peculiar smile.

"Have you?"

Quinn scoffs, wiping his window clear and destroying his artwork so he can see where they are. They've left the town behind now; there's nothing but woods stretching out on Noja's side of the road, while cliffs crusted with ice and snow rise up on his.

"Never figured it was worth it, since everyone's a fuckin' tool."

"I find it hard to believe that _ everyone _ you've met has desired to, or attempted to, control you. The world has more variety than that, Quintus."

"Don't fuckin' call me that," he snaps, feeling ridiculously tired now that the tension from before is leeching from the car. He knocks his head against the window, growling in frustration. "Whatever. I'm gonna fuckin' nap. Wake me up when shit's over."

"Enjoy your nap, Quinn," Noja murmurs, sighing quietly; he doesn't attempt to argue, which Quinn is silently, secretly grateful for. "Pleasant dreams."

"Whatever," Quinn mutters sullenly into the collar of his shirt before he closes his eyes. He lets out a heavy breath, and he swears he can feel the lightest brush of fingers over his hair before he sinks into the swirling darkness behind his eyelids.

\---

_ It's not often that he comes here. Hell, he can't even remember when the last time was. Maybe when Dad died? Everything looks the same, though. The dirt surrounding him on all sides, the thick nest of grasses and scraps of fur; the scent of musk and blood and wilderness. _

_ He hears claws scrape over the ground and turns to meet the coyote watching him with sharp, intelligent eyes. His coat is winter-thick, patterned in tans and reds and browns aside from the shocking white of his throat. He's lean and long, like most of his kind, but the eyes watching Quinn are not the eyes of a common animal. _

_ "Like what you've done with the place," he mutters, gesturing around at nothing in particular. The den isn't deep underground, so there is some light filtering down the tunnel, but even if it were the middle of the night, he knows he'd be able to see everything clearly. _

_ The coyote chirps at him, part of its lip curling in annoyance before his muzzle smooths out again. He breathes in, and Quinn copies him, knowing before the scent hits his nose that all he's going to smell is himself. _

_ "Somethin' you want?" He runs his fingers over the wall, feeling the cool dirt crumble and give beneath the press of his claws. "S'not often you drag me here, furball." _

_ The coyote growls, a short, rough sound, and comes to stand beside him. He comes up to Quinn's hip, which isn't typical for a common North American coyote, but the damn thing isn't real, so he figures he'll let it take whatever liberties it feels like. _

_ They stare at each other, eyes hard and glinting, and Quinn is the first to blink when the clear image of a grizzly bear appears behind his eyes. _

_ "The fuck about him? Ow, you fuckin' shit!" _

_ Sharp teeth gleam, tinged with blood. They didn't sink deep into the meat of Quinn's thigh, but they definitely broke skin. He can't tell if the coyote is getting ready to snarl at him, or if he's grinning. _

_ Sitting, he leans back against the wall with a heavy sigh, fisting a hand in his curls and pressing his face against his forearm. His knees are pulled up to his chest in a way he knows make him look vulnerable, like he's trying to hide, but fuck it. No one's here to see him but the damn furball anyway. _

_ "What about him?" he grumbles again, and he swears the coyote rolls his eyes before sitting with a heavy thump, his tail hitting the nest and rustling the grasses. _

_ This time, the picture is Noja, his face pulled into his typical gentle smile. Quinn growls and shakes his head, but another image is quick to pop up, and his chest aches. _

_ "Knock it off, asshole, seriously. I'm not in the mood for this game." _

_ A heavy paw smacks the side of his head hard enough to send him sprawling. Teeth bury into the hood of his sweatshirt and yank, the growl he feels against his nape rumbling and annoyed. "I'm not a damn cub anymore," he spits, scrambling to get his hands and feet under him, but that same paw smacks him back down again. _

_ "I'm too fuckin' old for a scruffing, fleabag!" Quinn yells into the dirt beneath his cheek. Teeth nip the base of his skull, sharp and insistent; a heavy weight drapes across his back as the coyote lays over him. He can't weigh all that much despite his size, so it should be easy to knock him off, but Quinn can't seem to find the leverage to do it. _

_ Giving up, he slumps down against the floor of the den, a frustrated keen slipping past his clenched teeth. _

_ "The hell you know that I don't?" he grits out, turning his head to glare into those intelligent eyes. "Huh? The fuck does he matter so much, anyway? He's just some fuckin' Domknot that bitch hired to break me. He's shit." _

_ He sees the damn mutt roll his eyes this time, opening his mouth to yell, but then a scent that shouldn't be _ here _ winds into his nose. It's just a quick puff, but it makes him freeze, his eyes going wide. _

_ "The fuck?" _

_ He lifts his head, taking a deeper breath, his nose tilted toward the ceiling and his nostrils flaring as he tries to pinpoint where it's coming from. The coyote's head drops over his shoulder, whiskers tickling his cheek, and Quinn catches the scent again. It startles him so much he sneezes, turning his face into the side of the coyote's throat and flinching when he gets a stronger whiff of the scent he _ knows _ wasn't there before. _

_ "What the fuck?" he breathes, grunting when his uninvited guest clambors down from his perch on Quinn's back and stands in front of him again. He pushes himself onto his knees, meeting the coyote's eyes and frowning. _

_ "The hell does that _ mean, _ you damn furball?" _

_ After another moment of staring, the coyote sighs, shaking himself, and turns away. "Hold up," Quinn growls, scrambling to his feet. "Don't just saunter off, you little shit! Tell me what it means!" _

_ The only answer he gets is a flick of the creature's bushy tail and another mental image of Noja, his hands warm against Quinn's head and his smile teasing as the bear fixed his hair that morning. _

"Quinn?"

Cracking his eyes open, he blinks groggily at Noja, rumbling out a disgruntled noise. The Alpha's hand is warm against his bicep, so large his thumb and middle finger overlap despite Quinn's not-insignificant muscles. It should make him bristle, that little sign that speaks worlds of differences between them, but he's still caught in the last dregs of the not-dream. When he inhales, he can smell dirt and musk.

"Hmmn?"

"We're here," Noja murmurs, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Are you alright? You were muttering for a bit, there. Bad dream?"

"Guide dream," Quinn replies roughly, sitting up and grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes with a groan. "S'been a while since I had one."

"A guide dream?" The Alpha is surprised, but somehow his tone doesn't insult Quinn the way skepticism normally would. To be fair, they're not something that gets talked about often; it's not even really a dream so much as a deep form of meditation. It's their chance to interact with the animal side of them -- the last remnants of their ancestors, who could become the creatures they themselves are kin to now.

"Yeah," Quinn grunts, feeling more alert and wary as the last of his grogginess fades. He glares over his hands at the bear, pulling his lips back enough to show the tips of his fangs. "What of it?"

"Nothing," Noja promises, his hand slipping away once Quinn is sitting upright fully. The warmth remains, clinging stubbornly under his shirt and spreading across his skin in a way he knows is more psychosomatic than anything else. "I suppose it just surprises me," he continues, tilting his head in an act of curiosity, "that one so feral doesn't have many dreams of your kin guide."

"Why the hell would I?" Rubbing his chest distractedly, Quinn glares out the front windshield at the café in front of them. He's heard of it before -- it's a pretty popular little place -- but he's never visited Angie's Corner himself. It's well outside of his idea of a comfort spot, considering how many of Elmar's upper-class pass through the doors.

"That was pretty presumptuous of me," the man agrees, joining him in looking at the café. "I tend to spend a lot of time guide-dreaming. I find it helps me settle my mind, and sort through my emotions when they become too tangled. If nothing else, sometimes it's just nice to have some time away from everything."

"Yeah, gettin' crushed by a damn furball that projects nothing but useless pictures. Sounds like a damn party," Quinn grumbles. He can feel Noja's eyes, the Alpha's curiosity a cool burn against the side of his head, but he refuses to look over. "Are we fuckin' doin' this or what?" he growls after a few moments of silence; he can already feel his skin prickling. "I wanna get this shit over with and go the fuck home."

"We have a few moments," Noja says, turning the engine off and leaning back in his seat. "You remember what we talked about, right? No matter how tempting it is, you _ need _ to stay calm, Quinn. All of this hinges on you staying as calm as you can, no matter what your mother or this… _ boy Alpha _ she's chosen for you have to say."

"I _ know, _ damn it. Stop fuckin' _ tellin' _ me." He's on edge and he knows it, but Eleanor and her chosen parakeet most likely won't see it as anything other than his usual temperament. He can use that against them, and he plans to, because like fuck is he capable of being calm right now.

"Quinn."

"God damn it, _ what-" _

Noja's hands cup his face, startlingly warm against his chilled skin. He freezes, his mouth partially open, his lips still twisted in a snarl. When the Alpha's forehead presses against his, he flinches and rumbles quietly, unsure if he's warning the bear away or reacting to the gentleness of his touch.

"Breathe, _ chispa," _ the man murmurs, their noses brushing. It's unbearably intimate, but Quinn has nowhere to go to get away, and he realizes apropos of _ nothing _ that part of him doesn't even want to move. Noja is warm, and his scent is the closest thing Quinn has to comfort right now, after weeks with no one around but the Alpha. Even shut away inside the Durango, he can hear all of the people walking by outside, can hear their meaningless conversations and smell their jumbled scents, and it's _ a lot. _

It's like coming out of sensory deprivation without a slow build-up; like going from nothing to _ everything _ without an anchor to brace against.

"She's out there," he whispers, his vision unfocused and blurry. "Tabby's out there, she's _ there, _ and I can't see her."

"I know," Noja whispers, his thumbs stroking across Quinn's cheeks. "I promise you, Quinn, you'll see her soon. We'll figure out a way."

"Fuckin' lying," he grits out, trying to shake his head. The hands hold him in place, firm and careful without being confining.

"Am I?" the Alpha muses, rubbing his forehead against Quinn's. "Does it sound like I am?"

"Shut up." Of course it doesn't, because he's not, and he fucking knows that. It makes Quinn feel better anyway, the panic that had been boiling reduced to a low simmer. After a moment of breathing, his nose and his lungs full of Noja's scent, he sighs and jerks his head away.

"Can we get this shit over with?" he asks dully. "I don't want to be here."

Noja watches him for another moment, his eyes hooded and contemplative, before he nods. "They may already be inside, and it's almost time. Let's not delay the inevitable any longer than we have to."

"Hooray," Quinn grunts sarcastically, shoving his door open and stepping out of the truck. Rock salt crunches beneath his heels; the city must have salted recently to prepare for the next cold snap. The scents that were partially muffled in the enclosed cab smack him in the face unimpeded now, and Quinn grits his teeth against the riotous waves of so many strangers battering at him.

Jesus, how the fuck had he tolerated this before? Doesn't anyone know how to control their goddamn scents?

"Come, Quintus."

Noja's voice is even and calm, his eyes giving nothing away. He watches just long enough to make sure Quinn steps onto the sidewalk before he turns and leads the way into the café. His hands are tucked into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed and his posture at ease. Clearly, he's far more used to wearing this mask than Quinn is; it's all he can do not to snarl and snap at the people staring at them as he slinks through the door after Noja. He keeps his head down and his shoulders hunched -- it's the best they're going to get from him, for now.

Alpha Doms aren't that common, so it makes sense that someone like Noja is going to attract attention wherever he goes. He's bigger than anyone else in the café, both in height and in bulk. Quinn can see a few Alphas twitching as they pass, torn between their instinct to posture and the -- undoubtedly -- unfamiliar desire to submit to a creature that clearly outmatches them.

No one sees the savage grin he aims at the floor, but then again, hardly any of them are watching _ him. _

"Ah, Alpha Noja. Thank you so much for joining us, today."

The Mayor's voice sends a ripple down his spine, and Quinn swallows repeatedly to get the saliva out of his mouth. His gums ache, but he refuses to let his fangs drop.

"The pleasure is all mine, Alpha Mayor Park," Noja replies jovially. "Come now, Quintus, don't be shy. Say hello."

Quinn lifts his head just enough to peer at his mother through his bangs, offering a strained smile. "Hello, Alpha Park."

Eleanor smiles at him, prim and professional. "Hello, Quintus." He shivers angrily at his name on her tongue, swallowing again. "You look well, son. Come, both of you, sit. I would like to introduce you both to our other guest; he'll be joining us for lunch. I hope that isn't an issue?"

"Not at all," Noja says dismissively, taking the closest seat. "Sit down, Quintus."

He hates that the damn bear isn't looking at him. He hates that _ she _ is, her dark eyes taking in every inch of him like she's waiting for him to snap. She's clinical and aloof, but he can smell the thread of wariness she's not hiding very well. He takes solace in it as he sinks into the seat beside Noja, looking up fully to take in the decor of the café.

"Quintus," Noja rumbles, looking across the table at nothing in particular, "say hello to our guest. Don't be rude."

Meeting the brown eyes watching him from across the table, Quinn tilts his head, taking in the man's appearance at a glance. Dyed blonde hair, the dark roots starting to show through; cut and styled to be shorter on the sides and longer up top, though it's gelled back. He's got a typical Alpha build, though there isn't much muscle beneath his sleeves, and his hands look soft and well-maintained. A heavy watch hugs his wrist, silver and large enough to look tacky.

Flicking his eyes back up, Quinn takes in the dark gray shirt and the darker vest; the way the top two buttons are undone to show the hollow of his throat and a hint of chest. He's lounging back in his seat and smiling, like he hasn't got a care in the world, but he's shit at keeping his scent controlled. He's _ interested _ in Quinn, and anxious about Noja's proximity. In a fight, he's woefully outmatched, just like everyone else, and he knows it.

"Hello," Quinn says, his voice practically a purr. Beside him, he feels Noja's arm tense, though the man's scent doesn't so much as ripple, his mask never slipping.

"Hello, Quintus," the Alpha rumbles back, looking him over with a lazy smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you; I've heard so much. My name is Archibald Emerson Winscot. How are you?"

"I'm just fine." It takes effort not to spit the words venomously through his smile. His mother is watching him like a hawk, and patrons all across the café have begun to pay attention, clearly aware that something is going on, even if they aren't sure what it is yet.

After a moment, he sees a bleached eyebrow tick just slightly, and maybe it's petty, but it feels like a victory. "How are you?" he finally asks, keeping his chin tucked and his eyes focused just over the Alpha's left shoulder.

"I'm doing well, thank you." Archie seems pleased by his manners, however delayed they are. Quinn reminds himself that he can't throw a glass at the prick's head just yet. He digs his claws into his thighs beneath the table, so disgusted with everything it's frankly amazing he hasn't been sick yet.

"How has everything been going, Alpha Noja?" Eleanor asks, and Quinn tunes them out, keeping his gaze fixed just off-center of the pompous Alpha watching him.

"So, Quintus, tell me about yourself. How have you been, lately? I hear you're taking a small… vacation. Has it been beneficial for you?"

Archie's voice is low, though not as deep or as rough as Noja's. It grates against his nerves, carving away at his control, and Quinn does his best to shrug and offer a lopsided smile.

"It's been… educational," he replies, letting his gaze drop to the table and his voice dip into something soft that makes him want to scream on principle.

_ I'm gonna fucking gut you, _ he thinks savagely. _ I'm gonna gut both of you, you fucking pigs. _

"How so?" Archie presses, leaning a little closer. It takes a willpower Quinn didn't think he was capable of exerting not to lean back as far as he can to get away from the man. He reeks of expensive cologne and artificial scents, with just the faintest hint of musk.

"Yes," Eleanor agrees, clearly paying attention now. "Tell us, Quinn; what have you learned?"

_ I fucking hate you both. _ Gritting his teeth until he feels them creak under the strain, he gives them both a closed-lip smile and tilts his head.

"Oh, so much. I wouldn't want to bore you with the details; you've both got busy days ahead of you yet, I'm sure."

"Nothing that can't wait," Archie rumbles, his eyes boring into Quinn and raising his hackles. "So _ tell us, _ Quintus. What have you been up to?"

That…

That was an Alpha Tone. Just a hint of one, but that was _ definitely _ a Tone. Quinn's eyes widen, his rage a hot, sudden thing erupting in his chest.

So, that's how the big boy Alpha wants to play, is it?

His lip twitches, and he hears Noja's quiet, resigned sigh. He also fucking ignores it, his claws flexing between his knees as he meets Archie's stare without hesitation and sees the way the Alpha's eyes narrow, just a little.

_ Alright then, you fuck, if that's how you want to do this, then game fucking on. _


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is later than I wanted it to be, but my health and body hate meeeeeee. I'm so sorry I made y'all wait this long.
> 
> This chapter is an absolute mess because Quinn is an absolute mess. Buckle up, folks. Shit gets real.
> 
> No beta -- all mistakes are mine.

Angie's Corner is modern and tasteful, bathed in neutral tones interspersed with bright splashes of calming blue and grassy green. The seats are vinyl, but they aren't sticky or cracked by age and the weight of too many different bodies. The table is some kind of dark lacquered wood, smooth and sleek beneath his palm. Everything is welcoming and clean, the air heavy with the scent of seasoned, homemade food beneath the heavy combination of multiple different pheromones. Alphas, betas, omegas -- all of them gathered to enjoy a delicious meal. Everyone is relatively happy, laughing and joking and chatting about useless shit like they haven't faced a single struggle in their lives.

Quinn wants to burn everything to the ground.

"Quintus."

Noja's voice is a low, steady rumble. That fucking _ name _ in the bear's mouth makes him clench his jaw before he looks up, gluing his mask back in place and offering an empty smile.

"My apologies," he murmurs, the words sticking to his mouth and throat like tar. He'd rather scream, snarl, _ lunge. _ He's not a toy to be played with. He has never been some pretty prize to be won by anyone less than deserving of his attention. He's never been made for something like _ this, _ and he's not sure how no one has realized it. Then again, they clearly have, and this is all part of their fight to chain his beast down into something silent and useless.

Remaking him for _ their _ comfort, because he's different and wild and that _ scares _them.

"Are you alright?" Archie doesn't reach across the table, but he looks appropriately concerned, even if it doesn't reach his eyes. They're dark brown, nothing at all like Noja's warm whiskey and bronze, and Quinn hates the way his swallow hitches in his chest.

"I'm fine," he whispers, looking away again. He can feel Noja's knee nudge against his leg, warm and reassuring. "It's just… a lot."

He's spent over a month hidden away in a cabin in the mountains with only Noja for company. Before that, he hardly ever tolerated people unless there were excited howls and blood involved. Quinn has never been a people person. Angie's Corner may be modest in size, but it's clearly _ popular, _ and it's raising his hackles.

"I'm sorry," Archie croons, sounding nothing of the sort. "It seemed the most fitting option. You have to integrate somehow, and public meetings are the best for now. There's no pressure involved."

"Yeah. Sure isn't." Quinn's words are low and scathing, his eyes burning through the Alpha watching them from a few tables over. He smells like juniper and cedar, his scent sweet-sharp with _ interest _ until he sees the yellow of Quinn's eyes and the deliberate challenge in his gaze.

"Quintus," Eleanor rumbles, disapproving. He ignores her, his eyes widening just a little, until the strange Alpha stiffens and looks away, his scent fading when he pulls it in and ducks his head between his tense shoulders.

What a fucking tool.

"Quintus!" his mother snaps, and he finally rolls his eyes toward her, his head still turned away. It's blatantly disrespectful, and he revels in her anger. "Honestly," she growls, folding her napkin with sharp, jerky twitches of her fingers. "A month and a half, and this is all you have to show for it?"

The barb isn't met for him, not with the way Noja shifts and sits up a little taller in his seat. "Were you expecting a miracle?" he asks smoothly, every inch of him radiating calm.

"I was expecting _ more," _ the Mayor replies stiffly, her spine straight and her hands going still, folded primly on top of her napkin. "If you do not feel you are up to the task-"

"A month ago, we would already be looking at a considerable body count." Noja cuts her off evenly, his lips twitching up into a smile. Beside Eleanor, Archie's eyes snap to Quinn, and he meets the man's eyes with a crooked smirk.

"There is more to this than restraints and whippings," Noja continues after a moment. Quinn grits his teeth, his top lip curling up enough to show a hint of a canine. The bear glances at him, his eyes dark, and he looks away; ducks his head and plays along the way he's been asked to.

"How long are you expecting to get away with the bare minimum of what's required?" Eleanor shakes her head. "If what you've done so far isn't working, then shouldn't you consider stepping up your own program?"

"What's the hurry?" Noja asks. Heat is rolling off him in waves, his scent confined to the four of them. "Would you rather this be done correctly, or rushed?"

"Correctly, obviously. And there's no _ rush." _ It's not quite a lie, her heartbeat barely flickering out of tempo. "All other reports I've read indicate-"

"Everyone learns differently, Alpha Park." Quinn can't be sure, but he thinks the man is _ enjoying _ cutting Eleanor off every chance he gets. She's less than pleased, her expression pinched and irritated. As an Alpha, it must be hard, being treated like something lesser. Noja isn't making it glaringly obvious, but it's there.

Quinn grins, catching Archie's attention again. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying yourself," the man comments, resting his cheek in his palm and smiling lazily. His eyes glint. "Was it a desire to feel pain that led you into so many troubling situations, sweetheart?" The pet name makes Quinn stiffen. Noja's scent deepens.

"Don't know if I'd really call them troubling situations," Quinn grinds out, his grin turning a little feral.

"Oh?" Those thin, pale eyebrows arch. "What would you call it, then?"

Humming, Quinn tilts his chin down, covering his scent glands and thumbing at the top button of his shirt distractedly.

"Stress relief, mostly. A bit of fun. Nothin' quite as satisfying as puttin' someone in their place, y'know? Feels good to watch 'em submit like a _ bitch." _

It's worth it to see the shock that ripples across their faces, drenching the table in a combination of scents that Quinn inhales greedily. Archie looks like someone just cracked him across the back of his head. Eleanor is wide-eyed, her knuckles white from how hard she's clenching her hands.

"Quintus Park," she hisses, her anger crackling swiftly back to life. Her eyes snap from his face to Noja, her mouth opening to spew another accusation, no doubt.

_ "Apologize," _ Archie snarls before she can say anything. He stands and leans across the table, his face only inches from Quinn's. His Tone rings with command, wrapping around Quinn with a pressure he's never had trouble shaking off. Now is no different, his gums bleeding as his teeth shift. He shoves himself up, right into Archie's face, and pulls his lips back to bare his fangs as he growls.

"How 'bout you make me, bitch," he sneers.

Noja strikes like a viper, scruffing him hard enough to _ hurt _ and slamming Quinn cheek-first against the table with hardly any effort. He yelps in shock and pain, struggling against the hot palm holding him down like he's nothing more than a misbehaving pup.

_ "That is enough, omega." _

Quinn forgets how to breathe. Noja's Alpha Tone is as overpowering as the pressure of his presence, commanding his spine to curve and his muscles to release. He slumps liks his strings have been cut, whimpering helplessly against the slick tabletop and staring up at the bear. His mind is fuzzy and ringing, his rage fled with his thoughts. This is worse than having his e-gland triggered. There is no free will in this; he can only obey, he has no _ choice. _ Noja stares down at him, his face thunderous and his eyes icy. It's a mask, but it's a _ good _ one; Quinn can't speak, he can only feel, and he _ hurts. _

_ Omega. _

Noja has never called him that. Never said it like that, cold and disgusted and _ demeaning. _ Like Quinn is lesser, even though everything the Alpha Dom has said and done has made it clear he's never believed anything of the sort. He has never treated Quinn as anything but an equal; never spoke to him like he was worth less than the entirety of Noja's attention.

Quinn feels hollow and raw, his eyes wide and his mouth partially open. His chest hurts. His lungs are on fire. His heart clenches and he chokes out a quiet, tortured sound, unable to look away from the creature looming over him with blazing eyes.

_ It's part of the act. It's part of the act. He would never -- it's part of the act, damn it, get a fucking grip. It's just… It's just part of the _act.

Nothing so fake has ever hurt so much. He's horrified and ashamed when he feels wetness drip from the corners of his eyes.

Around them, the café is deadly silent.

Noja looks away from him carelessly, his fingers gripping tight enough that Quinn knows there will be marks. "The reports you read," he says, his voice low and deep and calm, "all referred to omegas who were not feral in the same way as Quintus." He squeezes, and Quinn makes a soft, gutted noise that might be a whine. "Their rehabilitation did not take as much time, because their issue was a matter of _ attitude, _ not nature. Apologize for your rudeness, Quintus. Now."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, the words dragged from him with no Tone involved. He doesn't look up -- refuses, until he feels nails dig into the sides of his neck lightly. He meets Eleanor's eyes, then Archie's, before he looks away again and struggles not to drown.

"What are you saying, then?" the Mayor asks quietly.

"I'm saying that your son is feral. You already knew that. That is why you called me. Every situation is different, and his is very different indeed. Remolding _ nature _ is a lot different than conditioning behavior. This is why I told you that he could not have visitors. _ This _ is why I hesitated to agree to a public meeting. You are relentless though; it's no-doubt what makes you such a good politician." Noja laughs lightly, and Quinn curls in on himself as best he can.

"How long will this take?" Elmar's Mayor sounds less certain now, her words hesitant and slow. Quinn hates her with everything he is, but the hatred is still banked; smothered by the distress and anguish keeping him pliant beneath Noja's palm.

"I do not know," Noja admits. "He has made some progress so far, but that's in a very secluded setting, with only my presence to help control him. He's not ready for anything like this, right now. I hope you will forgive the commotion we have caused; I had hoped he would behave better. It seems all the noise was too much for him."

"So he _ can _ be trained?" That's Archie's voice, carefully neutral. "Why not ask for help, then? Surely multiple Alphas would see more results than just one?"

Noja hums. "As you have no doubt seen, a regular Alpha Tone has no effect on him; his feral nature is that strong. An Alpha Dom's Tone will work, but there aren't nearly enough of us around, and O.R.O.'s few Alpha Doms are all wrapped up in other engagements. Aside from that, working alone suits me better. I do not enjoy opening my territory to others who think they do not have to listen simply because they assume to stand as my equals."

They're talking about him like he isn't there. That's an omega's place in his mother's society -- quiet, meek, _ invisible. _ Behind the safety of their home's walls, anyone is free to live how they please, but in public, there are unspoken rules that are expected to be upheld. Creatures like Quinn will never belong, and so they must be taught their place, or they risk complete ostracism. He's never once cared about being a piece of her puzzle; he'd rather fucking die than become just another one of the emotionless molds. But to hear her beliefs spoken so casually by Noja, as though he _ agrees, _ shakes Quinn's already fragile emotions. He knows it's part of the act -- he _ knows _ the bear doesn't believe a word he's saying -- but he can't find the belief in _ himself. _

_ Omega. _

Shuddering, he keens weakly, curling further in on himself. He's never had his defenses so thoroughly shattered; never had anyone rip away his free will and leave him so effortlessly destroyed. It feels like he's in shock, his body trembling and cold.

He feels so far away from _ feral _ right now it's almost laughable.

"Now that I have made my point, I believe it is time we call an end to this lunch." Noja's voice sounds like it's coming from right next to his ear while the world dims at the edges. The feeling that creeps over him is one Quinn is unfamiliar with, his emotions floating away until there's nothing but calm and blankness and Noja's scent just out of reach. He turns his head, trying to catch a stronger whiff of the bear's musk and pine; hears voices that sound far-away and distorted, like he's hearing them speak underwater. He's still cold, still shivering -- the Alpha's palm is a brand against his nape, anchoring him. It's all he knows, his thoughts soupy and thick; they run through his grasp like water, no matter how hard he tries to hold onto them.

Quinn hears a whine, and realizes belatedly that it's coming from _ him. _ Strong arms guide him up off the table, hands supporting him when he sways. He leans into Noja's side, tucking his nose beneath the Alpha's jaw and feeling his feet leave the floor. There's no rush of anxiety as he's picked up, not like there should be. Instead, he slumps bonelessly into Noja's hold, hiding his face as he's carried. The chest beneath his cheek vibrates with the rumble of words -- or maybe it's just a rumble. He can't tell, and right now, it really doesn't matter.

_ Omega. _

Why would Noja do that to him? Why would he...? God, fuck, he can't _ think, _ his distress dissipating almost as soon as it festers, wicking away and being replaced by another breath of pine and spice and musk.

Quinn feels himself being set down, and the hands pull away. He panics, but before he can cry out, they're back, wrapping him in thick softness. Noja rumbles, a soothing purr, and he keens back instinctively before his nose is covered by a blanket he realizes is his. It's saturated in his own scent, with traces of Noja's where he's held it. They both smell like pine, but Quinn smells a little sweeter; not flowery and soft, but _ different. _ He smells wild and sharp, bright and fierce. It's comforting after the muddled cloud of scents inside the café. It feels like breathing in the fresh winter air from Noja's deck. He inhales deeply, snuggling down in his seat and clutching the blanket close with weak, kneading fingers.

Noja's scent is strong on his left side; the world around him rumbles to life with the roar of the Durango's engine. Quinn cracks open his eyes, but watching the buildings blur by makes him feel dizzy and nauseous. He bites his blanket, sucking to get a more potent dose of scent and whining quietly. The Alpha croons, fingers stroking through the hair just above his nape. Driven by instinct, his rational thought all but gone, Quinn tilts his head back and angles his chin, offering the scent gland on his neck.

"You're alright, _ chispa," _ Noja murmurs, his voice low and soothing. It's warm and thick and sweet, like Quinn's favorite syrup. He wants to bury his nose into the man's shirt; nose across his skin and lick up his taste. He wants to fill himself with it until there's no room left for anything but _ them; _ he trembles at the thought, at the desire to take and consume and be consumed in return. To feel those fingers rub against his scent glands, pine and musk and wild places mingling into a forest of their own creation.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Somewhere in the back of his mind, in that metaphysical space that's just his, his coyote rumbles approvingly.

"Wha'?" he slurs, his words fumbling and slow. He feels like he's been drugged, everything hazy and tinged with that peaceful numbness that keeps his limbs loose and uncoordinated.

"It's alright, Quinn," Noja says quietly. His scent is heady and soothing. "Come back at your own pace. We're on our way home now. They're gone. You're safe."

Swallowing thickly, Quinn whines, and Noja's hand immediately curls around his shoulder, burning hot even through the blanket. He leans into the contact with another confused noise, turning his head toward the Alpha but not opening his eyes. Not yet. Everything is still too fragile, but somehow, he doesn't feel like he's going to fly apart.

"What happened?" he rasps, struggling to clear the fog enough to _ speak. _ "What… What the hell was that, Noja?"

The Alpha is quiet for a moment, and Quinn waits as patiently as he can. Having his own scent, a comfort in the form of a piece of his nest, is helping him wade back to something resembling coherency. Emotions are starting to bubble and bloom, though the rage from before is strangely absent.

"I believe that was a Drop," the bear finally replies, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "You've never responded to an Alpha's Tone before. That is, they've never had an effect on you. I think the stress triggered a Drop."

"The hell did you Tone me for, anyway?" His voice is still jarringly flat and emotionless to his own ears. "Couldn't just slam me int'a the table'n be done with it?"

"I needed to make a little stronger of a statement. Something that would keep things tilted in our favor. Forgive me, Quinn. I didn't mean to cause that kind of stress." Noja sounds _ upset. _ He croon-whines, nudging his head into his seat and pressing his shoulder into the man's palm until strong fingers give a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "It's the last thing I ever wanted. I never want to do anything to make you feel like you can't trust me. Had there been another way, I would have taken it."

"Shaddup," Quinn grumbles, cracking his eyes open again and staring at the side of Noja's face instead of the world racing by around them. He keeps his blanket over his mouth and nose to muffle his words, and also to keep him from breathing in any more of the man's scent than he already has. "S'fine. Well, s'not _ fine, _ but I get it. Did what ya had to and all that bullshit. Would'a ripped Archie's throat out otherwise. I get it."

The problem is that Quinn isn't upset that Noja used his Tone. They'd talked about it before today -- that it might end up being something they had to do. Quinn knows himself well enough to know that the lunch was going to be a fucking disaster. He knew he wouldn't be able to play along the way they needed him to; his mask isn't anywhere close to as good as Noja's. He could pretend for a little while, but one wrong look, one wrong _ word, _ and it would shatter. Maybe Eleanor picked Archie for that reason. Softer Alphas are no match for him; he'll tear them apart. Winscot had been shrewd and calculating. He'd _ watched, _ nudging and poking. He'd used his Tone, he'd _ provoked, _ and Quinn had snapped at the bait.

So, no, it's not that Noja used his Tone to control the situation. Honestly, Quinn hadn't expected it to be as effective as it was; that had caught him off guard. It makes sense in a way, though, that the Tone of an Alpha Dom would be on an entirely different level than the Tone of a regular Alpha.

No, it was the way Noja called him _ omega _ that cut Quinn to the core.

_ What is this feeling? _

Quinn digs his fingers into his chest under the protection of the blanket, feeling the rapid, heavy stutter of his heart. His eyes burn, vision sharpening as he watches Noja from the corner of his eye. Heat builds behind his ribs, spreading through his veins until he's tingling from head to toe, his skin feeling chafed and oversensitive. Even with his scent pulled in as much as he can get it, Noja's pheromones fill the Durango's cab, heady and addictive in a way that leaves Quinn lightheaded.

_ Why? Why does it have to be _you?

Quinn isn't used to feeling attraction. Outside of his heats and the desires they force onto him against his own willpower, he's never wanted to let anyone close enough. Letting someone behind his walls means _ vulnerability. _ And he hasn't met an Alpha alive he hasn't wanted to leave a bloody, mangled mess. They're _ arrogant, _ and entitled; they believe they own the world, simply because biology gave them a little more of a boost than others. He's seen it in their eyes time and time again as he stood over them in the underground rings, their blood dripping from his fangs and claws. He'd seen their disbelief at an _ omega _ overpowering them, at someone as _ weak _ as Quinn, with a secondary gender he never fucking asked for, tearing through them like he belonged on their level.

_ But you never looked at me that way, did you? _

How _ has _ Noja looked at him? As an equal? A friend? He's never looked at Quinn as someone to overpower and own. Their interactions have always been met on level ground, and Noja has never once attempted to tilt the scales in his own favor outside of putting on a show. No, when he looks at Quinn, he's warm. He's _ gentle, _ but not because he sees Quinn as weak. He's gentle because he wants to be, because he _ cares _ about Quinn -- aggression, foul temper, feral nature and all.

_ Why does this hurt so much? _

He's had _ omega _ hurled at him more times than he's cared to count. He's been pushed, shoved, kicked, and bitten down by others, all of them trying to force him into accepting a role he was never meant to have. A title he was never meant to carry. He's an omega but he's not _ that, _ and he never will be.

_ "Damn, dude, you really are a fuckin' Mongrel, aren't you? I like that. Come on, go show them how it's done. You may even find some fun in it." _

A mongrel -- that's what Tappik called him all those years ago. A feral, rabid street-beast, stalking through the gutters with glittering teeth and narrowed eyes. He's not meant for gentle words or soft touches. He's not meant to coo and bare his neck to the first strong Alpha that looks at him with desire flashing in their heavy gaze.

_ No, if they want that, they'd better fucking fight for it. They'd better goddamn _ ** _earn_ ** _ it. If they show even a glimmer of weakness, they're mine to kill. _

_ So… why him, then? _

Why indeed? Emotions like this are a new thing for Quinn. _ Feelings _ have never factored into anything for him. He's felt kinship toward Tappik and Trigger; they're the closest to being his friends without ever speaking the word, and he wouldn't exactly call them _ close. _ He loves Tabby, because she's his world. She was all he had, after their father died. Quinn is her brother, her parent, and her protector. Everything he's done, he's done for her. It was selfish of him, to use his desire to _ conquer _ to fuel his drive to see her succeed, but he made it work. He protected her, with everything he had, until Karma snapped Her jaws and caught him mid-leap.

And from that wreckage came Noja, who has been nothing at all like he expected the bear to be. He's never pushed, he's met every snap and snarl with care and understanding, and he's given Quinn space to growl and stalk. He's let Quinn come on his own terms, waiting with an outstretched palm, and never once flinched or shied away when Quinn lashed out and drew blood.

_ What do you want from me? _

"Why do you insist on _ caring _ so goddamn much?" he hisses tiredly, letting his head roll loosely and glaring at the man through his lashes. His eyelids feel so heavy, tiredness creeping over him now that the crash from his Drop is setting in. He still feels shaky, like he's hanging on by the tips of his claws, but he refuses to tumble off the ledge he's hanging from. Not here, not yet.

Noja hums thoughtfully, rolling through the last green light before the cabin. There's still a few hours before they get there, but he's determined to stay awake. There's too much going on in his head for him to just give up and sink into sleep.

"Why do you insist on hiding behind those impenetrable walls of yours? Are you that afraid of letting someone through the gate? What do you think they're going to do to you, Quinn?"

"Fuck you, that's why," Quinn growls.

"You aren't in the habit of letting anyone close," Noja continues, his lips twitching into a lopsided smile. "You'd rather gut them. So if you ever _ did _ let someone stand that close to your wall, would you even know what to do with them?"

"Why would I let someone that close?" He's being evasive and he knows it, but Noja makes him feel so _ jumbled. _ His emotions are tangled into confusing knots, instincts and common sense tearing layers from one another -- nature and conditioning each struggling to come out on top.

_ Would it really be so bad? What are you expecting will happen? _

"If you did, they'd have to be a truly special person." Noja smiles a little wider, looking strangely wistful. "You did well today, Quinn," he adds, and _ pride _ on Noja smells like cinnamon and sweetness. It throws Quinn off, because that's not at all what he'd expected. No one else has ever smelled like that before -- not because of him, at least.

"I fucked up," he grunts, annoyed. "You got jack shit from that meeting."

"I got more than you'd think," the Alpha says, forgiving him so easily that Quinn feels dizzy and breathless. "There's plenty hidden in what she admitted; just as much as in what she didn't."

"Yeah, but I still ruined our chances to get more information." _ Why don't you blame me? Why aren't you angry with me? _

"You haven't," Noja argues gently. "There's still more than enough time. We'll regroup and come up with a new plan. The best endgames always hit a few snags along the way. You reacted to a stressful situation; there's no shame in that."

"Plans are useless if I can't control myself," Quinn yells, the words coming out raspy and strangled.

"On the contrary." Reaching over, Noja touches the tips of Quinn's hair, and he can feel it all the way down to his core. It shivers through him like an electric current, raising the hairs all over his body.

"You make no fucking sense," he hisses, looking away from Noja to glare out the window. Seeing the trees rushing by doesn't make him feel nauseous now. It just makes him eager to get back to the cabin and surround himself with the scents of the forest. To wrap Junebug up in his arms and breathe her in to settle this shaky, cracking feeling in his chest.

"Your honesty is a strength, Quinn," Noja murmurs, the light pressure turning firm. He cups the side of Quinn's head, thumb rubbing a slow, steady path along the slope of his skull; just above his oversensitive nape, through downy-soft hairs that slip beneath the drag of his toughened pads. Quinn trembles, caught between sinking into the caress and snapping his teeth to chase the man away.

"What do you want from me?" he whispers helplessly.

Noja rumbles. "Nothing you are unwilling to give."

Quinn closes his eyes, tilting his head away, and the Alpha gives him his space, letting silence fill the Durango. It's neither tense nor uncomfortable. He would argue that it's _ peaceful, _ leaving him relaxed enough to half-doze against his door. It's been such a long day, both physically and emotionally, and Quinn is beyond ready to be home.

Maybe that should be a clue -- that he's begun to think of the cabin as _ home _ instead of a _ prison. _ For years, home was wherever Tabby was. That was all he needed. He never asked for a gentle, fucking _ meddlesome _ Alpha Dom to step up to his wall and rest a palm against the rough, bristling surface. He sure as fuck wasn't expecting Noja to wait patiently until the wall started crumbling on its own, making a space just big enough for him to fit through.

_ When did this _happen?

He remembers that night out on his balcony, the air frigid and his skin burning with heat-fever. Staring down at Noja as the man stood there crusted in ice and snow, a muzzle locked around his face; lit up by the moon and changed by the shadows, those eyes of his clear and burning as he stared back at Quinn and breathed him in. Breathed him in, and then turned and walked away, giving him space and respecting his boundaries.

_ He's always respected my boundaries. He's always given so much, and he's never asked for anything in return. _

_ God damn it. _

"Quinn."

Gentle fingers touch his cheek, rousing him. It takes him a bleary moment to realize that they've stopped moving -- they're home. Noja smiles at him when he turns to look at the bear, his expression painfully, disarmingly gentle and fond.

"How do you feel?"

_ Is this what it feels like? _

Swallowing, he sits up, exhaustion burning away under a sudden surge of adrenaline. "You-" he chokes out, reaching across the space and twisting his fingers in the collar of Noja's shirt.

"You-- you fuckin'-- _ you--" _

"Quinn? What's wrong?" The Alpha's massive hand covers his own, squeezing gently. Reassuring. 

_ Why me? _

_ "You," _ he rasps, wide-eyed and wild, every gasp dragging Noja's scent across his senses. "What have you _ done _ to me--"

_ What am I supposed to do with this? _

Noja's eyes are bright with concern. Shining with a care he's done _ nothing _ to deserve. "Quinn, Quinn, hey, it's alright. You need to breathe. Can you do that for me? In, nice and slow--"

"Fuck you!" Quinn shouts, his knuckles aching from how tightly he's grabbing the damn bear's shirt. "You-- fuckin'-- _ fuck you for doing this to me." _

_ I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this. _

_ What have you done to me? _

He snarls, cracking wide open, and _ yanks, _ dragging Noja across the center console and slamming their mouths together.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeyyyyy. So. There's probably gonna be about two more chapters after this one, BUT. That doesn't mean I'm done with these boys. There's still SO MUCH STORY left to get through, which means A SECOND BOOK WOO. So, uh...
> 
> Enjoy... this. *gestures*

Noja's hands _ burn. _

The Alpha is cradling his face, his hold so tender that Quinn can't help but feel cherished rather than caged. He bites at the bear's mouth, too violent by far and always eager to push his luck, and shudders at the answering rumble that shakes him all the way down to his marrow. Noja's fingers stroke his cheeks; slip behind his ears and avoid his e-gland respectfully. Quinn still trembles, his mouth slick with saliva and flavored with blood.

He's afraid, he realizes belatedly, amidst the haziness that warms the air between them. He's afraid because this isn't what he does. This isn't what he's like. He's not some shivering, mewling omega, bending to an Alpha's will. He's never been that creature, and he's not about to start -- but Noja isn't asking him to. Noja is rubbing a thumb across his cheek, tilting his head for Quinn even though the angle can't feel good, and he's meeting Quinn's ferocity with enthusiasm. He isn't trying to control the kiss, isn't trying to press for more.

What kind of fucking Alpha Dom _ is _ this guy?

Quinn jerks back, gasping raggedly and glaring up at the bear. He's crammed himself back into the uncomfortable space between his seat and the door, which leaves Noja partially on top of him, straddling the center console with a knee digging into the cup holder. His thighs are spread, his jeans pulled tight across them, across his _ groin, _ and Quinn growls, low and throaty.

The fucking Alpha doesn't even seem to be out of breath. His mouth is partially open, his lips swollen. Blood is leaking down his chin. His eyes watch Quinn; quiet, patient, waiting.

Feeling a little too cornered for his own comfort, he shoves Noja back, scrambling across the center this time as he follows the man to the other side of the cab. Noja goes easily, letting himself be knocked back against the door, and this time Quinn is the one awkwardly straddling the console, feeling the way his thighs are already straining from the angle. Like hell he's going to straddle the man, but he almost doesn't have a choice. Noja is half a foot taller than him, fucking _ massive _ in every sense of the word. Quinn ends up with a knee planted between the Alpha's, his shoulders hunching as he comes in low, like a predator going in for the kill.

Noja tilts his head easily, offering his thumping pulse and the vulnerable bump of his scent gland, and Quinn feels like he's been punched in the chest. He gasps sharply, frozen with his fangs an inch from Noja's chin.

_ It would be so easy _ , he thinks, nearly dizzy from it as he stares down at the bear's offered throat. Saliva drips from his canines. His tongue throbs. _ It would be so easy. _

Gripping the Alpha's collar tighter, he shoves Noja again, even knowing there's nowhere else for him to go. Those broad hands that had cradled his face with so much care rub down his arms, fingers light but still hot enough to sear his skin through his sleeves. The slick drag of the silky material coupled with the rough calluses he knows the damn man has makes Quinn shudder harder, electricity crackling through his veins. He's never felt so overwhelmed and clear-minded at the same time. This is _ nothing _ like fighting, but the thrill is almost the same.

Noja shifts, pushing himself up a little; noses under Quinn's chin and presses a light kiss to his pulse. The tension winding Quinn up so tightly slips away just like that, the taut muscles in his neck going loose and pliant. The sound he makes is akin to a rough purr, and Noja's answering rumble comes right against the side of his Adam's apple, just above the collar.

Light kisses feather their way up his throat, avoiding his scent gland. Quinn goes tense again, his claws digging into Noja's skin, ready to rip and tear at the first spike of aggression in the Alpha's scent. Noja croons softly to calm him, licking the underside of his chin. His tongue is warm and wet, dragging over his skin in broad, soothing strokes.

_ He's cleaning away the blood, _ Quinn realizes belatedly, when that clever, agile muscle curls over the edge of his jaw and licks up to the corner of his mouth. _ He's _ grooming _ me. _

Turning his head, he bites Noja's tongue lightly, watching the Alpha from the corner of his eye. Noja doesn't flinch, doesn't growl in warning or grab his wrists. He doesn't do _ anything, _ even though Quinn's fangs are bulky in his mouth and sinking into that soft, hot flesh just shy of too hard. The bear never stops rubbing up and down his arms, long fingers squeezing his elbows reassuringly on the drag up every time.

Noja smells like so many things Quinn doesn't know how to name, but he doesn't smell like fear or warning. He's so _ placid, _ letting Quinn do whatever he wants. _ Quinn _ doesn't even know what he wants -- but that's not true, is it? He searches Noja's whiskey eyes, hunting down the beast he _ knows _ lurks behind them.

"You a rag doll or somethin'?" he grunts, his voice almost too loud in the silence that's fallen over the cramped, too-hot cab. The windows are starting to fog up, the air thick with their mingling pheromones; not enough to drive either of them wild -- they have too much control for that -- but enough that every ragged inhale paints Noja's scent across his tongue.

Chuckling, Noja reaches up to squeeze his nape, the touch gentle and so warm Quinn doesn't even try to fight the way he presses into it. "I don't want to overwhelm you," he confesses easily, like it costs him nothing to say it. Quinn flinches, glaring at him. "Don't look at me like that, _ chispa," _ he admonishes. "There is… so _ much _ I would do. With you. _To_ you. You try my restraint like no one ever has, and the last thing I want is to make you feel cornered. I _ never _ want to scare you, or make you feel trapped."

"I'm not a pup," Quinn snaps, finally letting go of the Alpha's shirt and pressing his palm to the center of Noja's chest for balance. His thighs are starting to burn, but he ignores the discomfort for the moment.

He's had worse.

"No," Noja agrees, and the sudden heat in his gaze, the way his voice drops low and _ rumbles, _ makes Quinn tremble. "No, you are not. But you aren't stupid either, Quinn. Considering the day you've already had, and all the stress you've been under, would you tolerate anything different right now?"

He doesn't have to ask what Noja means. In a confined space, with his adrenaline and his emotions a hopelessly tangled mess, he knows what would have happened if Noja had tried to pin him. If the Alpha had moved to cover Quinn and hold him down, if he'd tried to control the kiss and push for more, Quinn would have reacted violently. He would have torn the bear apart for _ daring _ something like that. But _ this _ doesn't feel right either. Noja being so careful and submissive tastes _ wrong, _ it _ feels _ wrong, and he hates that it bothers him.

With a rough, irritated noise, Quinn shoves himself back and curls up on his seat again, snatching his blanket up from where it's fallen down into the footwell and burying his nose in the soft fabric.

"You're so goddamn confusing," he mumbles, glaring at Noja. The man laughs quietly, leaning comfortably back against his door. His head is still tilted to show too much of his throat, though it seems more thoughtless than deliberate now. Quinn can't help but stare at his scent gland, wondering -- suddenly and _ irrationally _ \-- what it would taste like against his tongue.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Noja? What the hell is all of this to you?" He gestures at nothing, sharp and jerky; trying to encompass everything they are without knowing how to put it into words, because he doesn't actually _know_ what the fuck they are. He knows a fraction of what he feels -- he understands _ that _ much -- and given Noja's reaction, given _ everything, _ he knows it's not just him. The Alpha feels _ something _ for Quinn, he _ knows _ Noja does. He just doesn't know what to _ do _ with that information.

Quinn hates uncertainty. He hates feeling off-balance. He hates that Noja can do it to him so easily when no one else has ever come close. The aching feeling in his chest, the heat spreading through him, the memory of Noja's palm on his nape, caring and considerate rather than forceful -- no one has ever made Quinn feel anything like this. He's not good with words. He's not good with unfamiliar emotions. He's not good with _ people, _ but _ fuck, _ he wants to kiss Noja again. He wants to be kissed _ back, _ with no hesitation or restraint. He's not a fragile, flower-soft creature. No one has ever described Quinn as _ delicate. _ He doubts they'll start any time soon.

"Quinn," Noja murmurs, reaching across the space between them easily. His hand is so warm through Quinn's slacks, resting on his knee. Everywhere Noja has touched him so far is warm, _ burning, _ like he's leaving brands behind with every touch and stroke. No one can see them, but Quinn sure as fuck feels them, and it should disturb him more than it does.

It should upset him more that he _ isn't _ disturbed.

"Kiss me like you fuckin' mean it," he snaps before Noja can say anything else, because he needs to _ know. _

Noja's eyes flash, whiskey darkening to amber. For just a brief moment, Quinn sees something dark flicker to life, and then it's gone.

Fingers trace down his jawline, thumb and forefinger curling around his chin in a firm, steady hold. He stares Noja down, stubborn and unafraid; follows the steady pressure and lets his head be pushed back and to the side, baring his throat to the Alpha. His eyelids flutter when Noja leans closer, hot breath gusting across his sweat-damp skin; he shivers, digging his claws into the seat beneath him. He's torn between conditioning and instinct -- caught between the desire to snarl and snap, and the urge to go limp and let himself be moved however the Alpha chooses.

The first touch of Noja's tongue makes him suck in a sharp breath. His gland _ throbs, _ his control fraying dangerously when sharp teeth scrape against his Adam's apple. Noja presses a kiss just above the collar; pecks another one just above that. Again, and again, his chapped lips drawing patterns only he can follow, all the way up to just behind Quinn's ear. He licks the damp, thin skin; breathes in deeply, and then _ nips. _

Quinn flinches, a weak noise slipping free before he can stop himself. Noja bites the hinge of his jaw, teeth somewhere between blunt and sharp, his tongue hot enough to scald. The Alpha leaves a trail of them down his jaw, tilting Quinn's head farther back until he groans at the strain. He hears Noja huff, quiet and deep, and yips back.

"That the best you got, big guy?" His voice comes out steady enough, but he knows he's spilling more pheromones than he did before, his walls crumbling no matter how he tries to reinforce them.

Noja looks at him, amber and bronze swirling in his blazing eyes, and tugs Quinn's head down until they're kissing properly.

This time, the bear doesn't hold back.

_ You asked for this, _ Quinn reminds himself, his fingers digging bruises into the Alpha's arms. All he can do is hold on, his lips swollen and oversensitive against Noja's. The kiss is deep and borderline violent, thick fangs catching against his bottom lip and smearing the faint taste of fresh blood between them again. Quinn _ whines, _ high and desperate, trying his best to kiss back, to gain _ some _ sort of leverage, but Noja is relentless. His tongue slicks over Quinn's, bigger and far more agile; licks behind his teeth and traces along the serrated edge of his canines, leaving him trembling. Drool drips down his chin, wet and messy. His face feels like it's on fire, his chest heaving with each raw, stuttering gasp. Noja still has him by the chin, his other hand cupping the side of Quinn's throat before sliding back to cradle his skull. Claws scratch gently against his scalp, making him shudder and keen.

When Noja pulls back, a string of saliva connects their mouths. Quinn has never felt so fucking _ filthy, _ not even during the worst phases of his heats. He's too hot, yet at the same time he feels stripped bare and raw, his eyes burning as he stares up at Noja. The bear meets his gaze, his eyes almost impossibly dark and hooded. His thumb rubs beneath Quinn's eye, the action gentle and sweet and nothing at all like the primal, hungry beast he can see coiled in those glowing, attentive eyes.

"What the hell," he rasps, and Noja _ chuckles, _ the sound surprisingly rough. The strand of saliva breaks and lands on his chin, shockingly cool against his heated skin.

"You did not want me to hold back," the Alpha reminds him, dipping his head to lick Quinn's face clean. It's gentle and caring enough, but there's something almost possessive about the way Noja grooms him. When he lifts his head and drags their cheeks together, smearing and mingling their scents, Quinn shudders. His jaw stings, every spot Noja marked flaring hotly. He can feel sweat dripping down his neck; the hot, needy pulse of his swollen scent gland. His control is all but shot, his scent thick in the humid air of the cab. He smells wanton and _ eager, _ he smells like a goddamn thirsty _ omega, _ and he hates himself for losing control so easily just from a few kisses.

"Hey," he growls, butting at the side of Noja's face with his own. Even he doesn't know if he's asking for more space. He has no idea what he's doing. "This doesn't-"

"Please don't say this doesn't mean anything." Noja's claws scrape down his jaws before his burning, steadying palms cradle Quinn's face. He lets himself be moved, growling quietly in the back of his throat because he's uncomfortable, but he can't find the strength to lash out. None of this feels _ bad, _ but it's entirely unfamiliar. He's off-balance and far out of his element, the fragile newness of the situation keeping him on edge.

"Quinn," Noja murmurs, his voice impossibly deep and rough. It's hard to tell if his pupils are dilated, or if the bronze has bled out into his irises. "Quinn," he says again, _ helplessly, _ and the next kiss is nothing at all like the last one, and yet somehow, it's _ more. _ Noja presses their lips together, his head tilted just enough so that the slide is perfect. Quinn trembles, digging his claws into the Alpha's elbows as he pushes for more -- tries to bite and make it dark and feral because that's _ safer _ than this -- but Noja will not be swayed. He keeps the pressure light, his tongue barely flicking between Quinn's lips before it's gone again and he's pulling back to rest their foreheads together.

"There's no shame in wanting," he says quietly, his fingers tangling in Quinn's hair and massaging his scalp.

"I'm not some goddamn weak _breeder_," Quinn bites out. He should rip himself away, he should _ leave, _ but he fucking can't. He's never felt so angry and so safe at the same time, and he fucking _ hates _ it, because he's never needed an Alpha to be safe before. He's never _ wanted _ an Alpha, no matter how many his mother threw at him, or how many approached him on the street. No matter how many of them tried to pin him in the ring and force him to submit. No matter what _ society _ claimed and pushed, being subservient has never been Quinn's idea of a warm, fulfilling life. He's always fought to keep his freedom, and he will _ always _ fight for it, no matter what.

"Why are you so goddamn different?" he growls, dragging Noja closer again. The bear tilts his head, vulnerable and trusting, and Quinn bites the side of his throat, well away from his scent gland. He doesn't break the skin, but he's far from gentle about it; it's going to leave a bruise, and _ that _ sends a bolt of thrilled desire through him that he wasn't expecting.

Noja moans, and he feels it against his _ teeth, _ the first burst of wild, musky pheromones sending him reeling. He bites a little harder, shock making him lose focus; feels skin split beneath his canines, and pulls back to watch the blood well up in tiny, dark red beads. He licks them away, crooning roughly, and can't help the way he squirms at the heady taste coupled with that dizzying scent.

"What the hell," he mutters, feeling somewhere between drunk and drugged. He licks over the bite, feeling the indentations left by his teeth, and then finally pulls back to glare up at the man.

"The hell kind of Alpha are you, lettin' an omega mark you?"

Noja smiles lazily, looking every inch the predator he is. He's _ pleased, _ the scent sweet and sticky like toffee. It catches in Quinn's throat, hanging there stubbornly no matter how hard he swallows.

"Rank doesn't matter, here," the bear says after a moment, tilting his head back against the window. "Here, like this, there is no Alpha, or beta, or omega. It's just you and me. Equals. I've told you this before, Quinn. So why wouldn't I let you bite me?"

"So, what, you gonna bite me next?" Quinn challenges. Noja's eyes roll over him like a physical weight, dragging across his skin and leaving goosebumps behind.

"Would you let me?" he asks simply.

Quinn clenches his jaw. "Fuck you," he huffs, smacking at the door until he finds the handle and wrenches the damn thing open. Cold air floods the cabin, pulling a displeased hiss from him at the sudden temperature drop. The scent of bitterly cold wind and snow dissipates the heavy blanket of their mingled pheromones, and Quinn is annoyed by how annoyed that makes him.

It's not quite fully dark out yet, but it's quickly getting there, nighttime stretching the shadows and widening the pools of darkness across the clearing. He slips through them with ease, hyperaware of the sound of Noja climbing out of the Durango behind him; the crunch of the man's shoes over snow and gravel as he follows Quinn back to the house.

Junebug bleats eagerly as soon as he's through the door, practically bouncing in her pen. "Easy, love," Quinn croons, hurrying to let her out before she hurts herself. She jumps at him without hesitation, and Quinn catches her without thought, cradling her close to him and burying his nose into her fur. He feels her little head tuck over his shoulder; the eager flicks of her tail against his arm. They scent each other, crooning and bleating back and forth until Junebug starts to squirm. Quinn sets her down carefully, already feeling better, and watches the fawn prance toward Noja.

It's a bad idea to get so attached when he knows they'll have to release her back into the wild soon, but Quinn can't help himself. She's so small, and she's an orphan; his nature won't let him stand by and watch her struggle. Caring for pups has always been the one facet of him that he never fought tooth and nail. He _ loves _ taking care of little ones. The downside to it is how easily and _ deeply _ he tends to get attached, and Junebug is no exception.

Dropping onto the couch, he curls up with a quiet groan, dragging the blanket folded across the back down and wrapping himself up in it; leaving a hand free for when Junebug comes back and rests her head beside his knee. He rubs between her ears, smiling at the sweet, simple joy in her scent.

"So now what do we do?"

Noja is in the kitchen, piling ingredients onto the counter. "I'll write up a report of what happened today and send it to Dwayne along with the recording. There's really nothing we can use, but I may as well send it anyway." Quinn watches him rub the back of his head and sigh as he stares down at everything he's gathered. When those whiskey eyes flick to meet his stare, he doesn't look away.

"How does stir fry and rice sound?"

Quinn's stomach grumbles eagerly. It's been a long time since breakfast, and they didn't exactly get to eat at the café before everything went to hell. Frankly, a pack of hotdogs sounds fantastic right now.

"Sounds good." His eyes inevitably drop to the bruise he can see already forming on Noja's neck, and he's glad he's got his scent pulled in again, because there's no stopping the flare of heat and _ pride _ he feels at the sight of _ his _ mark on the Alpha's skin.

Aside from the lingering heat beneath his skin, and the flush that hasn't fully faded from his cheeks, and that _ mark, _ it's like nothing happened. They fall into familiar, easy silence, the only sound being Noja preparing more food than two people should reasonably be able to eat. Quinn zones out to the steady thud of a knife against the cutting board; the sharp, crisp sound of vegetables as they're diced. His eyelids droop, exhaustion a heavy feeling behind his eyes, but he's not ready to fall asleep yet.

Maybe it's because he's tired. Maybe it's because he can't _ forget. _ Maybe it's because part of him -- a bigger part than he'd expected, if he's being honest -- doesn't _ want _ to forget. Whatever it is, he's unsurprised when he mumbles, his words muffled by the blanket he's tucked his face into, "Are we gonna talk about it?"

Noja looks up from the rice cooker, smiling gently. "Would you like to?"

Quinn shrugs, snuggling deeper into the couch and curling his legs to give Junebug plenty of room to scramble up beside him. She can curl into such a tiny ball, something that surprises him every time he sees her do it. She's a warm weight at his hip, seemingly content with cuddling close instead of bounding all over the house. He's surprised, considering she's been penned up for almost twelve hours. He's definitely going to need to clean her area later, but she's nowhere near as energetic as he thought she'd be. Or maybe she is brimming with energy, but she'd rather stay close for the moment instead of burning through it.

"I'm not angry because of what happened at the café," he admits quietly after a moment, lifting his head so Noja can hear him better -- not that the bear wouldn't be able to hear him if he hadn't. An Alpha Dom's senses are better than any other rank's by quite a considerable margin. Quinn could fucking whisper everything into his elbow and Noja would hear him without any issue.

"Well, no, I _ am, _ but I'm fuckin' pissed at _ them _ and their bullshit. I ain't… I ain't mad at you. I know you just did what you had to do. I don't _ like _ it, 'cause fuck that shit, but. I get it. So don't fuckin' beat yourself up about it."

"I did not anticipate your Drop," Noja says once Quinn has finished speaking. "I should have, if only as a possibility. That _ is _ my fault, for putting you in such a vulnerable position while surrounded by so many strangers."

"You handled it," Quinn replies shortly. He can't say he _ enjoys _ that it happened, or that he's particularly happy that so many people saw him being so weak, so _ omegan, _ but it's done now. "You… you kept me safe. You got me out of there. So… thanks, I guess."

This time, Noja's smile is _ radiant. _ Quinn can't look at it for too long; doesn't like the anxious-eager flutter in his chest at the sight of the Alpha looking so pleased with _ him. _ He looks at Junebug instead, because she's safer. Noja goes back to cooking, but Quinn isn't finished yet, trying to force his next question past his clenched teeth.

"Are you gonna make a habit of kissing me now?" he mutters, hunching his shoulders and refusing to look at Noja when he hears the spatula stop scraping across the pan of frying meat.

"Would you like me to kiss you again?" Noja asks in return, sounding curious. There's nothing deep or eager in his voice, and he's pulled his scent in again just like Quinn, giving nothing away. It's so drastically different from how he'd been in the Durango, so wild and passionate, the chains holding his beast back loosened but not completely gone.

Huffing through his nose in irritation, Quinn lifts his head and glares at the Alpha, chewing the inside of his lip. They're still swollen and sensitive; he can still taste traces of _ Noja _ and his blood, and he sucks his tongue distractedly, chasing the flavor.

"I don't know," he admits grumpily. "Yes. No. Maybe? I don't fuckin' _ know." _

He does, he really _ does, _ but like hell he wants to _ admit _ to that kind of weakness. He's never needed an Alpha -- he's never _ wanted _ an Alpha. He still doesn't _ need _ one, but he can't lie to himself anymore. Not after today. He can't deny that a growing part of him _ wants _ Noja, wants the goddamn bear that acts nothing like society says an Alpha Dom should. He's too mild, too damn _ gentle. _ He lets Quinn snarl and push, and fucking _ smiles _ at him for it, like nothing makes him happier than Quinn's anger and his abrasive nature.

No one has ever wanted Quinn for who he is. They only wanted what they assumed they could make him. What they thought they could take from him. No one wants a feral, too-big omega with blood dripping from his hands. No one wants _ Quinn. _

Except, apparently, Noja does.

"Do _ you _ wanna kiss _ me?" _ he challenges, feeling his hackles bristle and knowing it's a fear response.

"Yes," Noja replies, simple and easy, without any hesitation. Why does he always have to make everything sound so fucking _ easy? _

"What the _ fuck," _ Quinn barks, startling Junebug with the way his voice cracks, too loud and agitated. He immediately softens, cooing to let her know it's alright; bending over despite the discomfort of the angle and rubbing his throat against her head to soothe her. Noja watches, a silent sentry with a small, sweet smile. It makes him look boyish and shy, which shouldn't be possible with how fucking _ massive _ he is.

"Does it really surprise you that much?" Noja starts to fry the vegetables, adding sauce and whatever spices inspire him. Quinn has long since given up trying to figure out how the hell the man works. Everything he makes tastes phenomenal, and he never measures a goddamn thing. Nothing ever tastes the same way twice, either, even if he uses the exact same ingredients. Quinn likes to cook, and he considers himself to be good at it, but he doesn't even come _ close _ to Noja in skill.

"Yes," he grumbles, crossing his arms beneath the blanket.

"Why?" Damn him, he sounds honestly confused. Like he can't fathom _ why _ someone wanting to kiss Quinn -- why _ Noja _ wanting to kiss Quinn -- is so surreal.

"Have you _ met _ me?"

Noja huffs. "We are all of us fragile beneath our armor," he mutters, plucking a pepper from the pan and eating it to test the flavor. Juice and sauce drip down his chin, and he wipes it away with his thumb; licks it clean while Quinn bites his tongue.

Why _ now? _ Why did he have to realize it _ now? _

"The hell does that even mean?"

"We can build whatever avatar we want to show the world," Noja explains, gesturing to himself and then to Quinn. "The way we dress, speak, and act will all influence how others see us, and how they treat us. But it's all armor. Beneath the walls we build to keep others out, we are always different. We are all a heart, and skin, and organs, so in that way, we're all the same. But if you take that armor away, all that's left is the truth of us. Some of us hide behind more armor than others because of things we've experienced. Some of us," and here, he gives Quinn a significant look, "deliberately make our armor spiked, so anyone that tries to get past our defenses ends up impaling themselves on them. We do whatever we have to do to keep ourselves safe, because without that armor, we can be hurt. We can even be killed."

"What the hell kind of shit did you _ read, _ growing up?" Quinn sputters. "You didn't get that from _ Sherlock Holmes." _

"No, I didn't." Humming, Noja checks the rice, clicking his tongue thoughtfully before leaving it to finish cooking. He tosses the meat and vegetables together in the same pan, covering it and washing his hands quickly before making his way to where Quinn is curled up on the couch.

Those hands are still slightly damp when they cradle his face, and cooled by the water. Quinn swallows, watching Noja warily while the Alpha watches him in return. This is different from before, slower and thought-out. Quinn isn't yanking the man into a frantic, painful kiss, desperately trying to make sense of his own rioting feelings. _ This _ is slow, and calm; it's Noja slowly coming to him, his eyes warm and bright. His fingers stroke Quinn's face tenderly, leaving sparks that can easily ignite, but don't. They just build beneath his skin, warming him from the inside out until he lifts his head, unsure if he's chasing the sensation or trying to escape from it.

"It's not a bad thing, to set your armor aside sometimes," Noja murmurs, their lips just barely touching. Quinn sucks in a shaky breath, then bares his fangs, though there's no real threat behind it.

"Why, so you can cut me to ribbons?" he growls.

"I would never," the Alpha whispers. The first kiss is feather-light, barely even a kiss at all. "I would lay the world at your feet. I would lay myself before you, if you asked me to."

Quinn tilts his chin up, breathing in when Noja exhales. "Not very Alpha of you," he teases, nipping at those full, chapped lips.

"Maybe," the man agrees, his smile lopsided and loose. "But where's the fun in that? We are more than our ranks, after all. We are more than our armor."

"Anyone ever tell you you're fuckin' dangerous, Timber Noja?" It's the first time he's said the Alpha's first name, and he's not ready for the way Noja's fingers press a little harder, or the way his breath hitches.

"Once or twice," he admits, his eyes glowing hot enough to burn Quinn. He revels in it, finds himself wanting _ more, _ because danger is a lure he's never been able to ignore.

"Anyone ever tell you you're fuckin' _ weird?" _

Noja laughs, light and happy. "Once or twice, I think," he rumbles, coaxing Quinn closer, until there's no more space for words.

Noja kisses him, and Quinn grips the Alpha's nape, covering the bite mark with his other hand as he pushes up into the kiss, making it wet and demanding, and _ taking _ when Noja willingly _ gives. _

For now, it's enough.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm sorry for the delay. My health issues have become more problematic than I was expecting them to, and it's taken its toll. I'm resting as much as I'm able to, but my muse has taken a back-seat to my recovery, so I'm sorry in advance for how long it's gonna take for me to get the next chapter out.
> 
> I'm also sorry for the other thing. You'll see what I mean when you get there.

Quinn's never really thought of clothes as anything deep and meaningful before. They were just something to be worn, to cover skin and play along at public decency. Now, if he thinks about it, they really are like armor_ , _ meant to protect and guard the vulnerable places you never wanted anyone else to find. He can sort of see what Noja meant when he said every single person wears some sort of armor to protect themselves, but honestly, Quinn's never really thought about it in such a profound way. So long as his clothes were soft and comfortable, that's all that mattered to him.

It seems Noja has developed quite a knack for making him look deeper into his own psyche, ever since he came to the cabin. He's still not entirely sure if that's a good thing or not. Clothes are _ clothes; _ why do they have to be anything else?

Snorting quietly to himself, he hitches his waistband up before it slips too much lower. This particular pair of sweatpants is his favorite even though they're old and riddled with small holes, the gray color as soft as the fabric itself. They're a second-hand find, one he's managed to keep and cherish for years, because they're _ comfortable. _ They're a little too big for him, but it was never an issue until he broke the draw-ties a while back. Even now, already hanging loose and dangerously low on his hips again, they still _ technically _ fit -- so long as he's careful about remembering to pull them up whenever the cuffs get caught beneath his heels, or before they slide too low to be considered decent in mixed company. They're definitely not a pair he can wear in public, but around the house?

What's there to stop him?

Behind him, Noja makes a noise he's never heard before, and he turns to look at the man with a frown. His hip cocks naturally, a feeble and -- by this point -- instinctive attempt at keeping the loose waistband from slipping down too far. His tank top is long enough to offer a small measure of help, but it never does much good for long against gravity.

"What?" he grunts, unsure of what to think about the expression on the Alpha's face. Noja swallows, looking vaguely pained.

"I haven't seen that pair before."

Quinn looks down at himself, then back up. "Was kinda cold last night," he replies with a shrug. "Didn't feel like changing when I woke up. You want breakfast?"

"Yes," the Alpha murmurs, his eyes hooded and glowing. That's not an expression someone usually has in response to food, and the damn bear hasn't once looked at the spatula in his hand. He hasn't even fully met Quinn's eyes, his heavy gaze fixated lower, closer to his hips.

Quinn looks down again, trying to figure out what the fuck the man is looking at, and sees the widening sliver of skin where his sweats have crept down a little farther, baring a naked strip of hip and just the slightest hint of stomach.

_ Oh. _

"Oh," he says out loud, feeling heat flush through his chest. He meets Noja's stare again, caught between wariness and slow-blooming warmth, and bites his lip. After a moment of contemplation, he arches his hip a little more, just to see what happens.

The sweatpants slip down a little farther.

Noja's eyes _ blaze, _ his claws sinking into the back of the couch where he'd rested his hand, and Quinn can't help but smirk.

Well then.

This thing between them is still brand new, raw and huge and easily jarred. Quinn can already feel it shifting, filling the cabin and spilling out across the forest. He's fought and pushed and snarled his way here, arrogant and powerful and _ afraid, _ because accepting Noja -- accepting _ this _ \-- means he'll have to accept parts of himself that Quinn has always refused. He'll have to acknowledge his weaknesses as well as his strengths, and that doesn't sit well in his chest.

He's not _ weak, _ but Noja… Fuck, he makes Quinn _ want, _ and that's never happened to him before. No one has ever burrowed beneath his skin, and Noja has done it without once trying to sink his claws in. He hasn't forced his way past Quinn's walls; has never once tried to overstep his boundaries. He's gentle, and _ honorable, _ and Quinn didn't think there was an Alpha alive he'd ever see that way.

"Eggs?" he asks, his voice only slightly raspy. Easy enough to pass off as still tired, if Noja asks about it. He won't though, and they both know it.

"Please." The Alpha shakes his hand free from the couch, frowning at the gouges he's dug into the leather. "At this rate, I'll have to reupholster all of the furniture," he sighs. "I may as well, so I can fix your chair while I'm at it."

"The hell's wrong with my chair?" Quinn turns away, mostly so he doesn't get caught staring at the fading bruise on Noja's throat that he's making no attempts to hide. They're both still in their pajamas, the bear's shirt a soft, plain v-neck tee that shows off his collarbones and part of his chest.

"It's still cracked down the one side. I should fix it soon, so it doesn't become a problem somewhere down the line."

"You callin' me fat, Noja?"

The Alpha's chuckle is low and rich. "Never." A chair scrapes somewhere behind him, and he figures Noja has pulled one over to sit at the island. "I don't like the idea of leaving it for too much longer, especially considering the way you tend to throw yourself about like a ragdoll. There's also the chance Junebug may harm herself, if she gets too playful and breaks it while jumping."

The thought of Junebug's safety flattens the hackles that had been bristling at Quinn's nape at being called a _ ragdoll. _ He does have a tendency to drop across the furniture, but he's never been _ that _ bad. "Where are you gonna fix it?" he mutters, halfway distracted by sniffing spices to determine what he wants to add to the omelettes.

"Down in the shop," Noja replies, like Quinn had any fucking clue he had a _ shop. _

"The fuck?" Glaring at the man over his shoulder, he snorts with all the grace of an annoyed bull. "Where the hell do you have a shop?"

"Downstairs." Noja rests his cheek in his broad palm and smiles at Quinn, lazy and predatory. "It's not really a basement; just a space I had built to use as my workshop. The entrance is around the opposite side of the house from the deck, which is probably why you never noticed it." His eyes drop, and Quinn quickly yanks his sweatpants back up, growling a warning that has no real threat to it.

"Is that what you're gonna do today, then?" Turning back to the eggs, Quinn eyes the pepper before shrugging and pouring the first omelette into the pan. If Noja wants to add anything else, he can damn well do it once the thing is in front of him.

"More than likely. What about you?"

Chewing at his lip, Quinn gives a lopsided shrug, testing the edges of the omelette impatiently. He fills it with diced peppers and crumbled feta cheese -- when did Noja even get _ that? _ Frowning to himself, he glances at the window over the sink, taking in the tall, barren treetops that stretch out for miles.

"Might go out and take some pictures. It's been a while."

"Mmm. Just remember to take granola bars in case you get hungry." He hears Noja tapping a claw distractedly against the top of the island, his voice distant, as though he's lost in thought. Leaving the man to his ruminations, he carefully folds over the edges of the omelette; flips it quickly and eyes the bottom with a critical eye. It looks good, not too brown, the egg thick and fluffy the way his dad taught him to make it.

_ No one likes a thin omelette, little pea. You lose so much that way. Keep it thick, make it bright, and you'll fill bellies every time. _

Sliding it onto one of the waiting plates, he sprinkles a little more cheese over the top and garnishes it with chopped greens for a little extra pop of color. Turning, he sends the plate across the island toward Noja, digging a fork and knife out of the utensils drawer and offering them without a word.

Warm fingers brush against his, and Quinn clenches his jaw to keep from flinching away when Noja's big hand curls over his to take the silverware. The bear gives him a smile he's still not used to, even after weeks of spending nearly all his time in close contact with the other man. It's so gentle and warm, those whiskey-and-bronze eyes glowing with fondness.

"Ea'cher damn food, _ Jesus," _ he grumbles, yanking his hand back and ignoring how warm it feels. "It's just a damn omelette."

"I'm surprised you never tried to become a chef, with the way you cook," Noja comments, cutting into his omelette and smiling when the peppers spill out. He looks so _ happy _ about such a simple meal.

"The hell would I do that for?" Rubbing self-consciously at his nape, Quinn glares into the bowl of beaten egg, feeling safe from scrutiny with his face turned away from Noja's clever, knowing gaze. "Most kitchens only want betas. Easier to deal with, or some shit. They don't crumble under the pressure of a dinner rush. Y'know, typical stereotypical bullshit."

"You tried, then?"

He doesn't know how to interpret Noja's tone, so he ignores it, pouring out the yolk for his omelette and listening to the sizzle as it hits the pan.

"A long time ago, yeah," he grunts. "A tiny little mom 'n pop joint that used to be on the corner of Duke and Prince. Place looked like it had been open since the forties. I'm still not sure if it was really 'cause I'm an omega, or if it was 'cause they didn't like the way I looked, or if they were tellin' the truth. They _ were _ all betas, though. Besides, like fuck I would have been any good there. As soon as some shithead Alpha got mouthy, I probably would've hurled a pot of oil at him."

Noja chuckles. "I'm sure he would have deserved it. So, you were a teenager, then?"

"Fresh out of that damn house," Quinn admits, filling his own omelette with shredded cheese; folding and flipping it with an ease that came from years of practice making breakfast for Tabby, so she'd have something in her stomach before classes. "Had no job and no roof, so I figured I'd take what I could get, within reason."

"So what did you do, after they turned you away?" Noja sounds interested, like he actually _ cares. _ When Quinn glances back at the man, his plate is empty and his silverware is crossed neatly on top of it, his arms folded on the top of the island and his shoulders relaxed. He winks at Quinn when he catches him looking; chuckles when he jerks his head away to make sure he isn't burning his damn breakfast. The underside is a little more brown than he'd like it to be, but he figures that's what he gets for getting distracted.

"Tried to steal a woman's camera in the park. Figured it looked pretty expensive; I was gonna pawn it and hole up in a motel until I figured somethin' out. Wasn't expecting her to be as fast as she was, but I got a look at her roll before she caught me. She took some real fuckin' good pictures. Even caught one of me by some shitty man-made duck pond, pettin' an ugly little mallard. I mean, he was scrawny as shit, and his colors were all dull. I think he was sick. Anyway, I asked her why the hell she took my picture. She said she thought the fuckin' duck and I just seemed like kindred spirits. A fuckin' _ duck. _ Said she wasn't gonna sell that one. I asked how much she made off pictures, she asked if I wanted to learn some shit. Didn't even report me for stealing her camera after that. Hell, she offered to _ teach _ me. Even let me crash on her couch for a bit. The longer I stayed, the more she said I reminded her of a stray dog. Usually shit like that would have pissed me off, but somehow I could just tell she didn't mean it in a bad way. I wasn't a charity case for her, I knew that too. Once I started making money off my prints, I chipped in for shit."

It's been a long time since he thought about Amy. She was an older woman; a beta with a mean slap that he _ always _ deserved, even if he bitched about it every time. She was a blogger and a photographer, with no kids of her own. Quinn wasn't interested in being anyone's kid, but hell, if she had been his mother instead of Eleanor, his life would have been a hell of a lot different.

"I bought that damn camera after she died," he admits quietly, staring at where he's buried his fork in his omelette. "Used it 'til it broke. She got stabbed takin' pictures of graffiti. She liked the freedom of expression, but I guess the local gang brats thought she was there for some other shit. I didn't even fuckin' know until I heard it on the news that night. Bounced before anyone showed up to repossess her shit. Figured the neighbors vouched for me, since no one ever tried to track my ass down. I had enough saved for a shitty apartment, by then. Stayed that way 'til I met Tappik."

He doesn't hear Noja get up; twitches when thick arms wrap around his chest and waist and coax him back against the Alpha's broad, solid chest. He sighs when Noja's nose presses against the crown of his skull, his breaths warm against Quinn's hair.

"I'm sorry," the bear murmurs quietly. Quinn snorts, the sound barely a huff.

"For what? You ain't responsible for my life or the choices I made. I did just fine. I'm _ still _ doin' just fine. I don't need some knight in shining armor to come and save me. Been savin' myself just fine all these years. Doubt that'll change any time soon."

Noja rumbles in agreement, squeezing him into the hug for a few more heartbeats before letting go. "Granola bars," he reminds Quinn as he pulls away.

"When I finish my damn breakfast," he grumbles back, shoving a forkful of egg and melted cheese in his mouth and chewing deliberately while glaring at Noja. The Alpha chuckles, his fingers brushing across Quinn's cheek before he leaves to rinse his plate and tuck everything away in the dishwasher.

"Want help cleaning up?"

"Go be manly and gross and build shit, ya damn Alpha."

Noja outright laughs this time, catching Quinn's wrist before he can take another bite and leaning in. He knows the kiss is coming, but it still catches him off guard, how gentle Noja's chapped lips are against his. How tenderly his other hand cradles the other side of Quinn's face, his arm a warm, steadying weight across his shoulders. It shouldn't surprise him that the man doesn't press for more, but it _ does, _ even as a tendril of pleased satisfaction coils through his chest. He tilts his head, letting his tongue dart out to swipe across the Alpha's bottom lip before he pulls away with a lazy smirk.

Noja's eyes are hooded and pleased, his lips hitching up into a crooked smile once they're a few inches of space between them. "Thank you, Quinn," he murmurs, and Quinn doesn't know what to say in response to that, so he grunts and turns back to his breakfast.

Before he leaves, Noja presses one more kiss to the top of his spine, nuzzling against him with a low, happy murmur that makes Quinn's heart thud painfully in his chest.

"Quit it, you fuckin' sap," he growls, shoving the bear's face away. Noja chuffs, licking his palm, and tugs his sweatpants back up for him before they fall the rest of the way off his hips.

"You fuckin' _ asshole," _ he sqwawks, his cheeks hot from mortification. Noja is laughing at him, his mirth bouncing off the walls. When Quinn kicks, he dodges easily, heading toward the hallway with a cheerful wave over his shoulder.

"Unless you feel like being bare-assed in the woods in early January, I'd recommend putting on a different pair of pants before you leave," he calls back before he's out of sight. Quinn can hear him still chuckling in his room, and growls in annoyance.

"Prick," he hisses, tearing into the rest of his omelette with the voracity of a creature that hasn't eaten in days. "Fuckin' _ asshole. _ Fuck you, damn Alpha. Dumbass _ knothead." _

His insults continue in a stream of disgruntled muttering as he cleans up the kitchen, shoving dishes into the dishwasher they rarely use and setting it once it's full. He barely hears it start as he wipes down the counters and the island, is own insults drowning out the quiet hum of the appliance.

"C'mon, Junebug," he calls once he's finished, draping his rag over the side of the empty dish rack so it can dry. "You ready for breakfast too?"

Her meal is a lot simpler than theirs -- a scoop of feed in her bowl that she shoves her slender muzzle into happily. He checks her water while she eats and eyes her pen before deciding to clean it once they're back. A romp through the woods will do her good, and it'll give him plenty of chances to get pictures of her in a more natural environment.

"I'll be right back, sweetheart," he promises, leaving her to finish her meal while he changes into more appropriate clothes. It hasn't snowed for a week or so, but it's still bitterly cold, so he layers a few pairs of socks to keep his toes from freezing and pulls on thermals before he puts on anything else. If he gets too hot, that's all the better; he'd rather sweat than freeze.

Unlike him, apparently Noja is perfectly content to work in a tank top and a pair of sweatpants already covered in what look like burn holes. Quinn eyes him, taking in his massive chest and the contours of his belly beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"Enjoy your burns," is all he says before he turns away, his steps nearly soundless thanks to the padding of his extra socks. In comparison, Noja's footfalls are almost too loud, following behind him to Junebug's pen.

"Have fun," Noja replies warmly, kissing the top of his head and easily avoiding Quinn's swipe with a teasing grin. He plants a loud kiss between Junebug's ears, which thrills the fawn, and then he's shrugging into a light jacket and sliding his feet into his boots. "Try to be back around suppertime," he suggests, zipping his coat and tucking his hands into the pockets. "If you aren't, I'll make sure to keep a plate warm."

"Thanks." Unsure of what else to say, Quinn unlatches Junebug's gate and clicks his tongue for her to follow. She bounds past him eagerly, her pretty tail flicking as she heads for the front door, and Quinn can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. She has to wait while he wiggles his feet into his boots and grabs his winter coat, so he tries to be quick about it, the heavy weight of his camera bag at his hip filling him with an excitement he bets rivals hers.

Noja catches him before he can make his escape, cupping his cheek and kissing him quickly. Quinn grumbles, but he doesn't fight it; will deny to his last breath that he tilts his head and kisses back, his cheeks prickling and a weird but happy feeling squirming through his chest.

"Don't burn the house down," he grumbles against the man's chin before ducking away and hurrying to the front door. He hears Noja's quiet huff of laughter behind him, but then the door swings open and he scrambles out after Junebug, whistling to keep her from taking off across the driveway. He half-runs, half-slides his way down the slope of the backyard, skirting around the deck and laughing as Junebug sends up a burst of powdery snow. Her leg is healing so well, and he knows a romp like this is long overdue for her; he'll have to watch to make sure she doesn't overexert herself and set back her own recovery.

Enjoying the cold air against his suspiciously warm face, Quinn lets the cold make his cheeks pink for a reason _ other _ than his own fumbling embarrassment. As soon as they're in the woods, he pulls out his camera and selects a lense, chewing his tongue and grinning widely as anticipation prickles across his arms. Junebug is already bobbing and weaving between trunks, the last of her spots nearly gone and her adult coat more than thick enough to keep her warm. He follows after the fawn, taking a few pictures to warm up and set up a segue between his last shoot and today's. It won't be hard to figure out even without the blank shots, but it's an old habit by now; almost instinctual at this point.

Whistling, he calls Junebug away from the barrier when the collar beeps, heading toward the lake while the fawn nimbly changes course to keep up with him. He gets a few pretty shots of her trotting through the trees, her legs and flanks freckled with snow and her breath misting from her dark nose. She looks so _ happy _ to be outside, so at home in the forest.

As much as he'll miss her when she's ready to go, he can't even consider the thought of keeping her penned in the cabin for the rest of her life, only letting her out when they decide to. No wild animal deserves that. No _ person _ deserves that -- to have their freedom stolen at the whim of another.

The lake is frozen over, the ice thick enough to hold his weight easily when he steps out onto it. Junebug doesn't follow after him, but that's what he was hoping for. Once he's out far enough, he turns and sits down to watch her, his camera raised and ready. He takes pictures of every little difference, grinning wide enough for his cheeks to hurt and his gums to ache from the cold. He catches her raising her head, water droplets clinging to her muzzle and dripping back into the hole she's stomped through the thinner ice to get a drink. He takes a picture of her rearing to do it again, her hooves already wet and her fur dark and slick.

When she finds a patch of something green near the trunk of a nearby tree, Quinn moves closer and lays on his belly, getting a shot of both the ice covering the lake and her simple joy as she grazes.

He takes pictures of the clouds and the opposite side of the lake, changing lenses and going as far as he can before the familiar beep warns him not to go any further. Junebug bleats from the bank, following him without her hooves ever leaving the sand, and he manages to snag a few shots of her leaping and bounding like the graceful -- though still slightly clumsy -- creature that she is.

He takes so many pictures he loses count, but that's fine. Half of them won't be worth keeping for this reason or that, and he learned a long time ago that taking too many pictures was always better than taking too few, because you never know what gems you'll catch without even realizing it until you look back through your album later.

By the time he's ready to call it quits, the sun has moved across the sky and his fingers are so cold he can barely hold his camera, much less press the shutter button. He unscrews the lense and tucks it back into its spot; checks his camera one more time and then puts that away as well. He can tell that Junebug is tired and cold, but the fawn still looks so happy to be outside, even curled up tucked under the low-hanging boughs of a pine tree. When she sees him coming back to the bank, she crawls out of her makeshift nest to greet him, her nose wet and cold against his cheek when he leans down to give her a kiss.

"Ready for supper, little one?" he murmurs, laughing quietly when she grunts against his collar. "Alright then, let's head home and get warmed up. If you're good, maybe I'll share some of my fruit with you. How does that sound?"

She can't understand him, but that's alright -- she's still happy to follow as he retraces their trail through the forest. Quinn laughs every time she gets distracted, but he doesn't stop her from exploring. Her curiosity is so fresh and innocent; he can't bring himself to take it from her. It means their return trip takes longer than their trip out, but that's fine. He's not in any rush.

The closer they get to the cabin, the quieter the woods become. Quinn frowns, trying to spot any birds resting in the higher branches, but there aren't any to be found. Even Junebug isn't as keen to wander off, sticking close enough to bump against his hip every few steps. She's nervous, her scent tinged with something faintly bitter-sour that gets stronger the farther they get from the lake.

Quinn's hackles bristle, his hand dropping to rest on the fawn's back reassuringly as he glances around without moving his head. He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring, and the cold burn of the wind brings a cluster of scents that hit him like a blow to the chest.

Hot, cloying, thick and _ eager. _ Full of intention and focus, like wolves on the prowl. The scents are strong and getting stronger, pheromones sticking to the back of his throat and choking him beneath the steadily rising tide of unfamiliar, unwanted company.

_ Alphas. _

His lip curls behind the collar of his jacket, his eyes narrowing as he growls quietly; it's low, a warning that promises danger if it goes unheeded, which he knows it will. This scent isn't coming from the direction of the cabin, and Noja would have warned him in advance if he'd been expecting company.

Hunters, maybe? The forest goes on for hundreds of miles, and very little of it is state gamelands. Even if they're poaching something out of season, it's not like anyone would ever _ know. _ The only house around is Noja's, and though Quinn is sure he lays down very distinctive territory markers, that won't stop a group of hunters tracking their kill.

Quinn inhales again, giving Junebug a firm nudge to get her moving at a quicker pace. The scents are stronger now, and still tangled together, but he thinks he can pick out four Alphas, and he doesn't like it. Just sharing space with Noja and Dwayne for an hour is enough to put him on edge, mostly because he still isn't used to Dwayne's particular brand of teasing. But stumbling into four strange Alphas out in the woods, when he's still at least a quarter of a mile from the cabin?

Quinn likes that even less.

"Go, Junebug," he mutters, picking up his own pace to encourage her to do the same. He isn't running, he isn't even _ jogging. _ It's closer to a brisk trot, and it's enough for Junebug to decide to run on ahead, which is more than fine with him. The sooner he gets her to safety, the happier he'll be.

A branch cracks behind him, deliberate and cliché, and Quinn whirls around, a snarl already rising in his throat when he sees two of the Alphas emerge from the growing shadows. They're both grinning, their eyes glowing gold, and he doesn't see the strap of a rifle or a bow slung over either of their broad chests.

Guess that rules out hunting, then.

"Hello, pretty," one of them croons. He's bigger than his friend, and his teeth are already shifted; his canines gleam when he pulls his lips back in a mockery of a smile. The sight of it sends a familiar swell of rage through Quinn's chest, one that's barely dampened by what the Alpha says next.

"We've been lookin' for you."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT YOU GUYS HOLY SHIIIIT
> 
> Well. This is it for book one. Book two will happen... At some point. Possibly after I churn through another project I wanna work on.
> 
> Thank you so, so, so much to every single one of you who has read, commented, and left kudos on this crazy fucking thing. Your support and patience has meant so much to me, you don't even realize. Thank you for putting up with my flailing, and Quinn being a Feral Idiot, and my health dips, and just. Everything.
> 
> This chapter didn't go exactly the way I meant it to, but I'm still weirdly, stupidly pleased with how it did turn out.
> 
> SO. UH. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT. STAY TUNED FOR FURTHER SHENANIGANS AT... SOME POINT AHAHAHA
> 
> *bows himself nearly in half*
> 
> ENJOY

Quinn hates being caught off guard, but he hates feeling cornered more than anything. The feeling of being penned in with nowhere to go sparks an overwhelmingly violent reaction in him that's nearly impossible to counter or control. Rage crawls across his vision, misting everything in red, and his eyes burn as they catch the fading light and glow yellow.

"It's funny," he says lightly, his voice shredded by the violence clawing its way to freedom from behind the cage of his ribs. His fangs are thick in his mouth, his jaw aching sharply from the suddenness of the shift. He tastes blood on his tongue, thick and coppery and fresh. "You say you've been looking for me, but I have no idea who you are."

The smaller Alpha scowls, an angry flush overtaking his freckled cheeks. His hair is messy and dark, falling over his eyes but not quite hiding them. He's attractive, Quinn notes in a detached sort of way, but his personality leaves much to be desired. Then again, they _ are _ Alphas, and clearly familiar with fighting, if the scars and scabs cracking over their knuckles are any indication.

"Never bothered to learn, did ya?" That comes from the man who is obviously in charge of this little ragtag group. Dominance practically drips off him in nauseating waves, reminding Quinn how lucky he's been that Noja has so much control over his fucking pheromomes. Both Alphas smell like wolf-kin, but they clearly aren't packmates. Hired to do a job then, it looks like. Somehow, he doubts they'd get along well in any other setting.

"Nope." Quinn drags it out and pops the _ p, _ looking them both up and down with distaste. "Obviously neither of you left an impression, if we have met, so why should I have bothered?"

Mop-bangs snarls and takes a step forward. "You little cun-"

"Now, now, Patrick," his 'friend' cuts in, stepping between them and smiling lazily at Quinn. "You know the rules. If he gets a little banged up, that's understandable, but the boss doesn't want him _ too _bloody and mangled."

"You drag that out of an action movie? Feels like one of us should be smokin' a cigarette." Quinn spits off to the side instead, leaving a bright splash of red across the snow. "The hell you fuckers want?"

"It's just like I said." The big guy shrugs, pushing dirty blonde bangs off his forehead. He's cleaner than Patrick, and despite the rough way he's rolling his words to sound like a thug, he's clearly educated and higher-class. There _ is _ something vaguely familiar about him, but it's hard to tell much with the bulkiness of their winter clothes.

"We seriously gonna just monologue at him until he attacks us, Rich?" Patrick growls, his golden eyes burning with a hatred that Quinn would usually find a little excessive for the situation, but considering the implications…

_ Ah. _

"Fighters," he guesses, and he knows he's right when Patrick stiffens and snarls at him. "Fuckin' figures. How the hell'd you idiots even find me out here? S'kinda a fuckin' _ dip _ from Elmar."

"We got good directions," Rich replies, and it's clear that he's the more level-headed of the two, which definitely makes him more dangerous. Quinn has fought in so many rings that there's little chance of him remembering their particular styles, but if he's learned anything through the years, it's that the calculated ones are always the hardest opponents. They _ think, _ they don't just charge in and rely blindly on instinct.

Not that it's ever stopped Quinn from crushing them.

"Yeah? From who?" Quinn takes a deep, quiet breath, scenting the air as subtly as he can. The other two scents are still faint, like they're coming in slowly, but that could easily be a trick. Learning to control your pheromones to a degree isn't rocket science, though he hasn't met many Alphas who bothered to try. Most of them just assume asserting their influence is their natural goddamn right.

"It's a secret." Rich grins, slow and disconcerting, and Quinn barely catches the flash at the corner of his eye before he's rolling out of the way, snow slipping down the back of his jacket and melting in the dip of his spine. He shivers, snarling out of reflex when he comes back up and sees the third Alpha grinning at him as she spins a long, thin chain around her gloved finger.

"Hey there," she croons. "Long time no see, Mongrel. We've missed you at the fights."

"Been busy," Quinn grits out past his clenched fangs, rubbing his sleeve across his stinging cheek. He's not the least bit surprised when it comes back smeared with blood; he must have caught a rock when he went down. If the quickly-fading light hadn't caught off that fucking chain, he wouldn't have seen her coming.

_ Damn it, so at least one of them _ can _ fuck with their scent. Ain't that fuckin' perfect. _

"Odds seem a bit unfair," he comments as casually as he's able to. Damn it, he doesn't want to _ talk, _ he wants to rip them to pieces. It's been too long since he's torn into anyone, and a big part of him misses the thrill of crushing someone who always assumed they were better than him because of something as stupid as _ biology. _ He has to be smart about this though, he has to be _ calculated, _ because they're here for a reason. _ Someone _ told them how to find Noja's house, which really narrows down the fucking list, but that still doesn't tell him _ why. _

Junebug should have made it back to the cabin by now though. She's safe, which means that Quinn doesn't have to be careful, he just has to be _ smart, _ and unlike the Alphas waiting him, tense and eager, he's spent a lot of time in these woods. He knows them -- not as well as _ Noja, _ but he _ knows _ them. Definitely better than a few egotistical Alphas that assume a few more bodies are going to make him more agreeable.

"Then come quietly," Rich says in a voice that suggests he'd prefer anything but that. Quinn snorts and unzips his coat, shrugging out of it and noticing the way all three of them immediately look at the collar nestled at the base of his throat.

"Nah," he drawls, letting his coat fall and cracking his neck. He sets his camera bag on top of it, strips out of his gloves, and ignores the way the cold is already burrowing beneath his skin.

He'll warm up quick enough in a moment.

"That's way less fun."

"Julia," Rich rumbles, and she lunges with an answering growl, her dark eyes flaring gold. That chain won't hold him, but it _ will _ hurt if she whips it at him; it'll hurt even more if she gets it around his throat and tries to subdue him.

Quinn dodges her easily, using the distance between them to his advantage. He spins around the tree he's backed up against, not even bothering to be quiet as he runs. There's no point when snow and broken branches will give away his trail, but that doesn't matter. He can take them all at once, but with a fourth Alpha still lurking somewhere in the dark, it's too much of a risk. It'll be easier to lure them through the woods; to double back on his own trails and get them one by one.

_ You've spent too much fuckin' time around Noja, _ he thinks, scowling to himself as he ducks and weaves through the trees, his lungs burning from the bitter air. He can hear the Alphas behind him, crashing through the underbrush like a pack of bumbling wolf pups. They're snarling and barking back and forth, probably trying to come up with a strategy to herd him wherever it is they want him to go.

_ Joke's on you, fuckers. I ain't a goddamn sheep. _

Skidding, Quinn cuts down the next deer trail he finds, leaping downed trees and kicking up clusters of rocks and forest litter as nimbly as Junebug had just a few hours ago. This is a different kind of fun for him though; this isn't playing tag with an overly affectionate fawn, or snarking back and forth with Noja until he can't keep himself from grinning no matter how hard he tries not to. This is Quinn in his element, hunting and being hunted in return. This is a game that promises the taste of blood and flesh between his fangs. The thrill of victory and the burn of muscles; the throb of wounds and the knowledge that he's beaten his opponent at the oldest game in existence.

It's probably a bad idea to go farther away from the cabin, but Quinn doesn't need Noja to save him from this. He's not some helpless, hopeless damsel in distress. Quinn has torn through so many Alpha fighters that he can't even remember them all -- Patrick's rage over that would be pitiful if it weren't so goddamn _ hilarious. _ He's taken care of himself for so long he doesn't know any other way, so like hell he's about to go running into the arms of an Alpha he doesn't _ need. _

The lake looks beautiful at night. It almost makes him wish he'd brought his camera along to get pictures of it, but considering the current circumstances, he'll just have to come back another time. Just like earlier, the ice holds easily beneath his weight, his footing only slightly unsteady because of how quickly he's moving.

Julia is the first one to come tumbling out of the trees; he can tell by the sound of her laugh when she sees him skirting the edge of his invisible barrier. It's entirely likely they know about it, if they knew how to find him. Trapping him against that goddamn line may even be part of their plan, if they know it'll hurt him. Still, Quinn is nothing if not tenacious and _ resourceful; _ it'll take more than that to subdue him, and if they forget that, then that's on them.

Turning, Quinn lopes the other way, toward the cabin -- or, more accurately, toward Noja's woodshed. He vaguely remembers the man saying it was in this direction. Patrick follows him from the shore, seemingly unwilling to try his luck on the ice. He's snarling, his shoulders hunched and his fangs bared. Julia is still chuckling, like she's having the time of her life; still swinging that damn chain like she's taking a stroll through the park instead of hunting an omega in the woods at night.

A few yards from the bank, Quinn stops and crouches, watching the Alphas while they eye him in return. For all their boasting and confidence, they're clearly wary. It's easy to tell that they're out of their element as well; Patrick is gasping for breath, and Julia is breathing heavily. They aren't used to pursuing prey in these conditions, whereas Quinn has spent so much of his time running through the woods that he's barely winded. The cold air isn't _ ideal, _ but like hell it'll stop him.

As soon as Patrick feels brave enough to take his first -- overextended -- step out onto the ice, Quinn leaps. The Alpha is off balance, and even with his traction reduced by the surface of the ice, Quinn reaches him easily. The wolf goes down with a choked-off snarl, Quinn's teeth buried in the juncture where neck and shoulder meet. Half of his mouthful is the fucking collar of the Alpha's jacket, but he still gets a good grip on flesh and muscle; bites deep and wrenches his head to the side with a savage snarl. Blood sprays across his face, bubbling up from the wound and immediately soaking into the sandy dirt beneath them. Patrick thrashes, screaming nonsensical bullshit beside his ear. Claws rake at his arms and chest, dragging open long gashes in an attempt to grab and throw him off. Quinn lets himself be tossed, rolling with the momentum and spitting his mouthful of blood and tissue in Julia's eyes when she comes close enough. She reels back, taken by surprise, and Quinn uses that split second to his advantage.

The feeling of Patrick's ribs cracking and breaking beneath his weight makes Quinn grin, feral and _ wild. _ He uses the man like a springboard -- like a _ jumping block _ \-- and laughs at the garbled scream of pain that follows him back into the forest.

The thick taste of an Alpha's blood in his mouth fuels him. He can hardly feel his own injuries, adrenaline and the joy of the fight making him giddy. Julia is roaring as she chases him, her words meaningless to him as Quinn runs. He's always been fast, and strong, and _ driven. _ He's always been more than _ just an omega; _more than violent enough to be considered _ feral. _ When everything else is stripped away, _ this _ is who he is, and it feels so goddamn good and _ freeing _ that he almost wants to howl.

Claws catch in his shirt, hauling him back, and Quinn gags when he's choked by his own stretched collar. He hits the closest tree _ hard, _ biting his tongue and snarling through the pain when he looks up through his bangs and meets the blazing glare of the fourth Alpha. He's huge, though nowhere close to Noja's size. His muscles look like the product of countless hours spent in the gym; almost too big on his frame, like he felt the need to overcompensate for some perceived flaw.

"Hey there," Quinn rasps, baring his bloody teeth in a mockery of a smile. He ducks easily beneath the fist that swings toward him, darting past the wolf, only to be yanked to a stop when the Alpha grabs the fucking transmitter collar instead.

Claws dig into the side of his throat, struggling to wrap around the thin band of leather and hold on. Quinn chokes when his air supply is suddenly cut off, his mouth wide open and his eyes burning as he strains against the resistance. He can feel the prongs of the transmitter box biting into his skin and wonders vaguely if they're cutting him too.

"Determined little bitch, huh," the Alpha mutters, dragging him closer by the collar. Quinn wheezes, leaning all of his weight into getting _ away, _ his claws buried in the bastard's wrist deep enough to catch and scrape across the bones. The wolf growls and shakes him, and Quinn forces himself to go limp despite his lungs screaming at him to alleviate the pressure, to get air, to _ breathe. _

Claws slip through blood, hooking into the thin, strong leather. Quinn feels it strain, and _ heaves, _ his shoes scrabbling for anything to brace against to help him before he can be lifted off the ground. Muscles clearly works out, it shouldn't be too hard for him to pick Quinn up. He hasn't tried it yet though, which means Quinn needs _just a little more time… _

The collar snaps, the wolf's claws cutting through it, and Quinn drops like a stone, gagging and wheezing at the sudden influx of cold air. His lungs scream, his vision dotted with black spots that blind him temporarily. The Alpha stumbles and trips over a rotting log half buried in the snow behind him, the sudden weight shift catching off balance.

Quinn jerks himself to his feet, turning and half-falling over the wolf before he can get back up. He catches the fucker's Adam's apple when his fangs rip through the front of the Alpha's throat. Instinct drives him, guiding limbs he can't quite control; gripping broad shoulders to pin his prey beneath his weight and strength as he twists, chews, _ tears _ \-- blood bubbles popping and splattering across his face as he digs deeper and deeper, fangs clamping _ hard _ around the ridges of the trachea and crushing it.

Blood drips from his bangs, every violent pulse soaking him until he's nothing more than a living piece of art, misty breaths pluming through the red when he lifts himself enough to look down at the carnage he's created. Most of the Alpha's throat is destroyed, blood pooling in the empty cavities and welling up to spill out over the sides of what's left. His trachea is nothing but shredded chunks of ribbed cartilage; Quinn can feel some of it stuck between his molars. There's a strip of flesh caught in the corner of his mouth, sticking to his bloody skin and curling around his jaw. Quinn tugs it free with shaking fingers, still feeling lightheaded and dizzy. He blinks the last of the spots from his vision, staring down at the carcass beneath him. Every breath is a harsh, raspy wheeze that burns like fire and makes his head throb. He feels weak and unsteady, but _ victorious, _ and slowly his open, gasping lips pull into a twitching, manic smile.

Quinn laughs, sharp and unsteady, and forces himself to his feet; slumps against the closest tree and laughs again, his chest heaving and his sides aching sharply. He laughs until he realizes he's crying, blood and tears dripping from his chin to mix with the mess that covers his chest and plasters his shirt to him.

There's bits of half-chewed meat sticking to the material.

Quinn laughs louder even though it hurts, throwing his head back and letting the rush of emotions crash over him until he's screaming, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He can't tell if it's his or the Alpha's, and it doesn't fucking matter, because he's fucking _ dead _ and Quinn isn't.

Quinn isn't dead.

Quinn's not…

He's fucking…

He's fucking _ furious. _

The forest seems to tremble from the force of his roar. Predators pause, ears flattened and feathers ruffled as the omega's fury sends fear and unease trickling down their spines. It's a sound that's equal parts rage and exuberance, a twisted combination of roiling anger and joyful triumph. It's a _ come and fucking get me, _ a direct challenge that screams _ catch me if you can, _ because there's two Alphas left that are determined to see him dragged down into the pit he fought so hard to pull himself out of, and he'll be fucking _ damned _ if they succeed. He'll rip them all to shreds, just like their friends, and he'll laugh over their cooling, mangled corpses.

_ I am more than just a fucking breeder, you sons of bitches. _

Quinn slumps, sucking in ragged breaths. Blood drips from his mouth. His tongue is still bleeding, he's cut his gums, and somehow, he's split his lips in a few places. His body feels like one enormous, throbbing bruise, and his lungs are on fire, but like _ fuck _ he's going to let that stop him. Like _ hell _ it's going to end here, not while he's still standing and breathing. Not while he can still _ fight. _

"Quinn."

Yellow eyes meet smoldering bronze. There's a streak of blood across Noja's cheek, matting his hair to his temple. His tank top is torn, showing patches of tanned skin and puncture wounds that look like they were made by claws. His mouth is open to accommodate his fangs, his breaths heavy and rough despite the fact that he's hardly injured. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and when Quinn sees the bloody length of chain wrapped around the knuckles of his left hand, he grins.

"Just one more," he hisses, taking a stumbling step closer to the bear. Noja doesn't move, his muscles coiled and every inch of him radiating _ danger _ with a murderous intent that makes Quinn groan.

"Quinn," the man says again, his voice deeper and rougher than Quinn has ever heard it.

"She dead?" He jerks his chin toward the chain and watches Noja's fist tighten with gleaming eyes.

"Yes."

This time, Quinn outright moans. "Could fuckin' kiss you, fuck, c'_ mere." _

A massive hand grips his chin and jaw just shy of too hard; he feels the individual links of the chain press into his skin and knows, with a twisted sort of thrill, that it's going to leave bruises. Despite the power in Noja's hold, the lips that press against his are surprisingly gentle. At least, as gentle as either of them can be, when fangs and feral natures are involved.

Noja licks his mouth clean, rumbling deep enough that Quinn feels like he's caught in a stormcloud, with thunder vibrating over every inch of him. He digs clumsy fingers into the bear's chest, gripping his shirt and yanking him closer; sucks the tongue dragging over the roof of his mouth until Noja squeezes his jaw and he lets go with a wet sound that makes him growl.

"Fuckhole snapped the fuckin' collar," he hisses, twitching when a knuckle scrapes lightly across one of the abrasions he already knows is going to turn into a mottled, nasty bruise.

"I'm glad you're alright," Noja breathes, crushing him close and making Quinn wheeze at the sudden pressure against his abused lungs.

"Let the fuck go 'fore ya kill me," he snaps, and Noja laughs, rumbling and amused. "I'm gonna kill that Rich fucker. Gonna rip his goddamn fuckin' smug face off."

"I'm sure you will," Noja replies, deadly serious. Quinn pushes the Alpha Dom away, glaring at him without any heat as he takes in the sight of him from head to toe.

"Surprised you ain't more fucked up."

"She didn't hear me coming, apparently." Noja says it lightly, without inflection, and Quinn's grin gets a little wilder. Fucker got the drop on her _ good, _ probably not all that long after Quinn spat part of her buddy's shoulder at her.

"So, hers then?" He drags a claw through the blood on Noja's face and notes the way he shudders with interest.

"Yes." Noja's palm is hot enough to burn against his hip, the man clearly unbothered by the blood that's soaked into Quinn's clothes. Getting out of them later is going to be a fucking nightmare -- he may as well just burn it all, there's no saving any of it.

Quinn hears the Alpha's approach before they see him, and tilts his head enough to look over his shoulder with a sneer. "Thought you might run away once your bitch-crew got totalled."

"How touching." Rich leans against a tree, his arms crossed and a pleasant smile on his face that's as fake as any Quinn's ever seen. There's no hiding the fury in his eyes, or the cracks that are barely keeping his fear at bay. He's angry because he knows he's lost -- to an _ omega, _ of all things. He's afraid, because he already knows he's not leaving the forest alive. Their society -- the whole of human civilization -- may have come a long way from their ancestors, but there are some laws, mostly unspoken but always upheld regardless, that will never be contested.

An Alpha trespassing on the territory of another Alpha without permission is dangerous enough. An Alpha trespassing with the intent to harm or _ kill _ is subject to whatever punishment the holding Alpha decides.

When Noja moves him gently, Quinn goes without a fuss. He's made his point, and he knows himself well enough to know he's beyond reached the limits of what he can do. The fact that he killed Muscles in his frenzied state is miracle enough; he's got nothing else left now. Aside from that, when it comes down to it, this particular fight isn't his -- it's Noja's. Whether he was acting under orders, or swayed by money, the fact is that Rich brought a pack of Alphas onto Noja's territory with the intent to take something that didn't belong to them.

Quinn doesn't belong to _ anyone, _ but that's not the point here, and that's not why Noja is doing this.

Well, it's not the _entire_ reason.

"Junebug safe?" he asks the bear's back, staring hard at Noja's shoulder blades. He's so tired he could drop, adrenaline leaking from him like the blood running from his slowly-clotting wounds. He's swaying on his feet, but like hell he's sitting down until this is over.

"She is," Noja replies, and Quinn realizes belatedly that he's got sawdust in his hair and dusted across his shoulders. He must have just finished working if he hasn't even showered yet. "Safe and sound."

"Good. Don't take too long. M'fuckin' tired, and I'm hungry as hell."

Bronze eyes meet his glare, and Noja smiles indulgently.

"As you wish, _ chispa." _

Aside from that one tussle in the yard, Quinn has never seen Noja fight. All he knows is what Dwayne has told him, which was all vague shit that was faintly threatening and deliberately unhelpful. Fighting is something Quinn is intimately, if not _ loving, _ familiar with. He's seen more styles than he cares to remember, from sloppy to calculated to brute, feral force. He's fought more Alphas than he's bothered to remember, and not one of them ever managed to hold his interest for long, because none of them were anything worth remembering.

Noja is something entirely different; he's graceful despite his size and his lumbering gait. He doesn't barrel forward immediately to overwhelm his opponent, and he doesn't flood the area with his oppressive pheromones to drive Rich to his knees. He simply circles closer, his eyes gleaming in the darkness; he's silent and deadly, his breathing eerily calm.

Rich lunges first with a snatl, and Quinn watches Noja break his wrist with a sickening crack, his massive hand a blur that even _ Quinn _ almost misses. It's a familiar move, one that makes his own recently-healed bones throb in sympathy, but the level of violence between their fight then and this one now is drastically different. Noja isn't fighting to subdue a feral opponent this time, and they all know it.

This time, the Alpha Dom is toying with his prey before he kills it. It's simultaneously awe-inspiring and terrifying to watch, because there's no gentle smiles or careful touches. This isn't a Noja that Quinn has ever met, and he's not afraid of the man, but it makes him nervous all the same.

This Noja is _ cold, _ and focused. This Noja is a feral killer. His eyes glint, his mouth open wide when he growls, and it's unlike any other vocalization Quinn has ever heard him make. Rich snarls again, snapping his teeth and swiping at the bear, and Noja steps aside easily. The wolf darts in, trying to bully him back, probably hoping to overwhelm him with a barrage of strikes. He carves new wounds into Noja's stomach, his blood a sharp, rich scent that fills the air and makes Quinn's mouth water.

Fangs dig into the side of Noja's pectoral; Rich managed to duck in even closer when the Alpha Dom took a swipe at him. This time, Noja bellows, his rage a palpable thing that raises the hairs on Quinn's nape. His lips feel like they've clotted shut, his tongue stuck unpleasantly to the roof of his mouth. Noja's hand comes down heavily on the side of Rich's head, stunning him enough for his jaws to relax, and the sound the wolf makes when his feet leave the ground rattles against the inside of Quinn's pounding skull.

"Don'cha wanna know who sent us?" Rich sneers, bluffing with all he has, and Quinn can't help but curl his lip in disgust.

Noja pauses, tilting his head in a gesture that's curious; it also deliberately and blatantly offers the vulnerable curve of his throat. His expression is serious, but Quinn can see the hint of his smile, and he snorts.

"Why would I need you to tell me, when I already know who it is?"

Rich struggles, clawing at the broad, solid hand clamped around his throat. "You don't!" he insists.

"I do," Noja rumbles, his eyes hooded. "Do they take me for an idiot? They know there's no coming back from what they've done, but that's alright. They'll hear about their trespasses soon enough, I imagine."

"We were just doin' what we were told!"

"That does not absolve you of blame." Noja's eyes are frigid and merciless, and entirely without pity. "You made your choice. It is only right that you die by it as well."

His hands shift, one holding Rich up by the shoulder while the other tangles in his hair and forces his head back. Noja doesn't wait, doesn't drag out the suspense; he bites deeply, cutting the wolf's frantic words off with a wet gurgle.

Quinn has never seen anyone rip out someone else's throat in real life. The blood manages to reach him, splattering warmly across his chest and face -- a shock of heat against his stiff, frozen clothing. It's both more and less violent than he was expecting it to be, or maybe it's just the way Noja goes about it. There's no fanfare to it, and it's done in a handful of seconds. He drops the Alpha's body without ceremony, letting it crumple into a pile of disjointed, bloody limbs at his feet before stepping over it and striding toward Quinn.

He doesn't fight the arms that wrap around him, pressing his face against the slick, hot side of Noja's bloody throat with a rumbling croon. Noja rumbles back, deep and pleased; rubs his face against the filthy spikes of Quinn's hair and breathes in deeply. Quinn lets his scent out before he's really even thought about it, letting Noja indulge and panting when a broad, powerful hand kneads against his lower back.

"Alphas are so possessive," he purrs, stroking up and down the bear's arms and feeling how cold and tacky the blood already is. They'll be frozen together at this point, but Quinn can't bring himself to care; he's willing to blame delirium and bloodloss for that, whether he's lying to himself or not.

"Some of us," Noja agrees, his voice once again warm and amused. Quinn isn't stupid enough to think he's seen all of the beast that hides behind those whiskey-colored eyes, but he's sen enough to know that Dwayne wasn't lying when he said his nature wasn't anything at all like Noja's.

If Quinn is a throwback to what his ancestors used to be, then so is Noja. He's a reminder of what Alphas once were, before civilization made them greedy. He's as wild as Quinn behind his carefully-applied masks, and also despite them. Ferocious when he needs to be, and more powerful than the Alphas of today play at being, but he's so much _ more _ as well.

"Now what?" Quinn mutters, tucking his head beneath the bear's chin and, for the first time in years, letting himself be picked up and carried without a fight. Noja's hands are warm and confident beneath his thighs, holding him with ease -- cradling him close like he's something _ precious, _ and Quinn is finally starting to realize and accept that, to Noja, that's exactly what he is.

"Now, I feed you and tend to your wounds. After that, I'll go find your coat and camera and bring them back. Then I'll drag the bodies into the yard and call the police. There is more than enough evidence to support a claim that they came with the intent to harm. I will invoke my right of defending my territory, they will remove the bodies, and that will be that."

Noja speaks so calmly, his words low and soothing, but Quinn is far from fooled. Not after tonight, not after _ everything. _

"This is all just evidence against her. You're gonna raid their car and phones for proof," he mutters.

"I am," the Alpha Dom agrees without hesitation. "Even if it was not her directly, there are only so many that know of the current situation, and where you are located. It's more than enough."

"Mmmn." Quinn rubs his nose against Noja's pulse point, licking away some of the blood until he can press his cheek against clean, warm, wet skin. He just ends up making a mess again -- they're both covered, after all -- but it makes him feel better. From the way Noja rumbles, deep and satisfied, he clearly has no complaints.

"I just want this shit to be done," he growls, nipping lightly and grinning when he feels big hands squeeze his thighs almost too tightly in return. Fuck, but that actually kind of feels good.

Yeah, he's definitely beyond exhausted. He's going to sleep for a fucking week as soon as his head hits his pillow.

"Soon, _ chispa," _ Noja murmurs, licking the shell of his ear. Quinn shudders, wrapping his arms tighter around the Alpha's neck and tilting his head just a little when he feels lips brush over his bruised, scraped throat.

"Soon," he agrees quietly, his eyes closing as he enjoys the gentle touch of chapped lips against his bare skin. He doesn't think anything of it, his mind slowing to a muddy, hazy crawl as the desire to sleep drags him down into the safety of strong, immovable arms. The night is bitterly cold, but Quinn feels warm all the way to his core, everything but contentment wiped away by the quiet, affectionate promise of _ soon. _

_ You'll get what you deserve soon, Eleanor Park. Count on it. _


End file.
